THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


The  Intruder 

THE  BLIND 

THE  SEVEN  PRINCESSES 
THE  DEATH  OF  TINTAGILES 

BY 

MAURICE    MAETERLINCK 

Translated  by 
RICHARD    HOVEY 


NEW    YORK 
DODD,    MEAD   AND    COMPANY 

1914 


COPYRIGHT,   1894,   1896,  BY 
STONE  AND  KIMBALL 


Collegt 
Library 

PR 


Contents 

PAGE 

THE  INTRUDER 9 

THE  BLIND 57 

THE  SEVEN  PRINCESSES 117 

THE  DEATH  OF  TINTAGILES 167 


1318526 


Persons. 

THE  GRANDFATHER.    (Ht  is  blind.) 

THE  FATHER. 

THE  UNCLE. 

THE  THREE  DAUGHTERS. 

THE  SISTER  OF  CHARITY. 

THE  MAID-SERVANT. 

Th*  scene  in  modern  times. 


The  Intruder 

To  Edmond  Picard 


The  Intruder. 


[A  gloomy  room  in  an  old  chateau.  A  door 
on  the  right,  a  door  on  the  left,  and  a  small 
secret  door  in  one  corner.  At  the  back, 
stained-glass  windows,  in  which  green  is  the 
dominant  color,  and  a  glass  door  opening 
upon  a  terrace.  A  big  Dutch  clock  in  a 
corner.  A  lighted  lamp.] 

THE   THREE   DAUGHTERS. 

Come  here,  grandfather.  Sit  under  the 
lamp. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  it  is  not  very  light  here. 

THE   FATHER. 

Shall  we  go  out  on  the  terrace,  or  shall  we 
stay  in  the  room  ? 

THE  UNCLE. 

Would  n't  it  be  better  to  stay  here  ?  It  has 
rained  all  the  week,  and  the  nights  are  damp 
and  cold. 

THE   ELDEST  DAUGHTER. 

The  stars  are  out,  though. 


io  The  Intruder. 

THE  UNCLE. 

Oh,  the  stars  —  that  makes  no  difference. 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

We  had  better  stay  here.     You  don't  know 
what  may  happen. 

THE   FATHER. 

We  need  have  no  more  anxiety.     She  is  out 
of  danger.  .  .  . 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

I  believe  she  is  not  doing  well. 

THE   FATHER. 

Why  do  you  say  that? 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

I  have  heard  her  voice. 

THE  FATHER. 

But  since  the  doctors  assure  us  that  we  may 
be  easy.  .  .  . 

THE  UNCLE. 

You  know  quite  well  your  father-in-law  likes 
to  alarm  us  needlessly. 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  see  things  as  you  do. 


The  Intruder.  n 

THE   UNCLE. 

Then  you  should  trust  to  us,  who  do  see. 
She  was  looking  very  well  this  afternoon.  She 
is  sleeping  quietly  now ;  and  we  are  not  going 
needlessly  to  poison  the  first  pleasant  evening 
fortune  gives  us.  ...  It  seems  to  me  we  have 
a  right  to  rest,  and  even  to  laugh  a  little,  with- 
out being  afraid,  this  evening. 

THE  FATHER. 

That  is  true  ;  this  is  the  first  time  I  have  felt 
at  home,  as  if  I  were  in  my  own  household, 
since  this  terrible  child-birth. 

THE   UNCLE. 

Once  sickness  enters  a  house,  it  is  as  if  there 
were  a  stranger  in  the  family. 

THE  FATHER. 

And  then,  you  see,  too,  outside  the  family, 
you  can  count  on  no  one. 

THE  UNCLE. 

You  are  quite  right. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Why  couldn't  I  see  my  poor  daughter 
to-day  ? 

THE   UNCLE. 

You  know  very  well  that  the  doctor  forbade  it 


12  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  know  what  to  think. 

THE  UNCLE. 

It  is  useless  to  alarm  yourself. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

[Pointing  to  the  door  on  the  left.~]  She  can- 
not hear  us? 

THE  FATHER. 

We  will  not  speak  loudly  enough ;  besides, 
the  door  is  very  thick,  and  then  the  Sister  of 
Charity  is  with  her,  and  will  warn  us  if  we  are 
making  too  much  noise. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

[Pointing  to  the  door  on  the  right. ~]  He  can- 
not hear  us  ? 

THE  FATHER. 

No,  no. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

He  sleeps? 

THE  FATHER. 

I  suppose  so. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

We  ought  to  go  and  see. 


The  Intruder.  13 

THE  UNCLE. 

He  would  give  me  more  anxiety  than  your 
wife,  this  little  fellow.  It  is  several  weeks  since 
he  was  bora,  and  he  has  hardly  moved ;  he  has 
not  uttered  a  single  cry  yet ;  you  would  say  he 
was  a  wax  baby. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  believe  he  will  be  deaf,  and  perhaps 
dumb.  .  .  .  That  is  what  comes  of  marrying 
cousins.  .  .  .  \Reproachfulsilence, 

THE    FATHER. 

I  am  almost  angry  with  him  for  the  suffering 
he  has  caused  his  mother. 

THE  UNCLE. 

You  must  be  reasonable ;  it  is  not  the  poor 
little  fellow's  fault.  —  He  is  all  alone  in  that 
room? 

THE    FATHER. 

Yes ;  the  doctor  no  longer  allows  him  to 
remain  in  his  mother's  room. 

THE   UNCLE. 

But  the  nurse  is  with  him  ? 

THE    FATHER. 

No ;  she  has  gone  to  rest  a  moment ;  she 
has  well  earned  it  these  last  few  days.  —  Ursula, 
just  run  and  see  if  he  is  asleep. 


J4  The  Intruder. 

THE    ELDEST    DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  father. 

[The   three  sisters    get    up,  and   go  into  the 
room  on  the  right,  hand  in  hand.] 

THE    FATHER. 

At  what  time  is  our  sister  coming? 

THE   UNCLE. 

About  nine  o'clock,  I  believe. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  is  after  nine.  I  would  have  liked  her  to 
come  this  evening ;  my  wife  was  quite  bent  on 
seeing  her. 

THE    UNCLE. 

She  is  sure  to  come.  Is  it  the  first  time  she 
has  ever  come  here  ? 

THE    FATHER. 

She  has  never  entered  the  house. 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  very  difficult  for  her  to  leave  her 
convent. 

THE    FATHER. 

She  will  be  alone? 

THE  UNCLE. 

I  think  one  of  the  nuns  will  accompany  her. 
They  cannot  go  out  alone. 


The  Intruder.  15 

THE   FATHER. 

She  is  the  Superior,  though. 

THE   UNCLE. 

The  rule  is  the  same  for  all. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  no  longer  anxious? 

THE   UNCLE. 

Why  should  we  be  anxious?  There  is  no 
need  to  keep  returning  to  that?  There  is 
nothing  more  to  fear. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

Your  sister  is  older  than  you? 

THE    UNCLE. 

She  is  the  eldest  of  us  all. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  know  what  ails  me ;  I  feel  uneasy. 
I  wish  your  sister  were  here. 

THE   UNCLE. 

She  will  come  ;  she  promised  to. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  wish  this  evening  were  over  ! 

[The  Three  Daughters  come  in  again.] 


1 6  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

He  sleeps? 

THE    ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  father ;  very  soundly. 

THE  UNCLE. 

What  shall  we  do  while  we  are  waiting? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Waiting  for  what  ? 

THE  UNCLE. 

Waiting  for  our  sister. 

THE    FATHER. 

You  see  nothing  coming,  Ursula? 

THE    ELDEST    DAUGHTER. 

\At  the  window."]     No,  father. 

THE    FATHER. 

And  in  the  avenue  ?  —  You  see  the  avenue  ? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  father;  it  is  moonlight,  and  I  see  the 
avenue  as  far  as  the  cypress  wood. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

And  you  see  no  one,  Ursula? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

No  one,  grandfather. 


The  Intruder.  17 


THE   UNCLE. 

How  is  the  weather? 

THE    DAUGHTER. 

Very  fine.     Do  you  hear  the  nightingales  ? 

THE  UNCLE. 

Yes,  yes ! 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

A  little  wind  is  rising  in  the  avenue. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

A  little  wind  in  the  avenue,  Ursula? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

Yes ;  the  trees  are  stirring  a  little. 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  surprising  that  my  sister  should  not  be 
here  yet. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  hear  the  nightingales  any  longer, 
Ursula. 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

I  believe  some  one  has  come  into  the  garden, 
grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER, 

Who  is  it? 


1 8  The  Intruder. 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

I  do  not  know ;  I  see  no  one. 

THE   UNCLE. 

Because  there  is  no  one  there. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

There  must  be  some  one  in  the  garden ;  the 
nightingales  are  silent  all  at  once. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  no  footsteps,  though. 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

It  musf  be  that  some  one  is  passing  near  the 
pond,  for  the  swans  are  frightened. 

ANOTHER  DAUGHTER. 

All  the  fish  of  the  pond  are  rising  suddenly. 

THE   FATHER. 

You  see  no  one? 

THE    DAUGHTER. 

No  one,  father. 

THE   FATHER. 

But  yet  the  pond  is  in  the  moonlight.  .  .  . 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes ;  I  can  see  that  the  swans  are  frightened. 


The   Intruder.  19 


THE   UNCLE. 


f  am  sure  it  is  my  sister  that  frightens  them. 
She  must  have  come  in  by  the  little  gate. 


THE    FATHER. 


I  cannot  understand  why  the   dogs  do  not 
bark. 


THE    DAUGHTER. 


I  see  the  watch  dog  in  the  back  of  his 
kennel.  —  The  swans  are  crossing  to  the  other 
bank!  .  .  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

They  are  afraid  of  my  sister.  I  will  go  and 
see.  \_He  calls.']  Sister  !  sister  !  Is  it  you ? 
—  There  is  no  one  there. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

I  am  sure  that  some  one  has  come  into  the 
garden.  You  will  see. 

THE   UNCLE. 

But  she  would  answer  me. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Are  not  the  nightingales  beginning  to  sing 
again,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

I  no  longer  hear  a  single  one  in  all  the  fields. 


20  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

And  yet  there  is  no  noise. 

THE    FATHER. 

There  is  a  stillness  of  death. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

It  must  be  some  stranger  that  frightens  them, 
for  if  it  were  one  of  the  household,  they  would 
not  be  silent. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

There  is  one  on  the  big  weeping  willow.  —  It 
has  flown  away  !  .  .  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

Are  you  going  to  talk  about  nightingales  all 
night  ? 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

Are  all  the  windows  open,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

The  glass  door  is  open,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  that  the  cold  comes  into  the 
room. 

THE    DAUGHTER. 

There  is  a  little  wind  in  the  garden,  grand- 
father, and  the  rose  leaves  are  falling. 


The  Intruder.  21 

THE    FATHER. 

Well,  shut  the  door,  Ursula.     It  is  late. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  father.  —  I  cannot  shut  the  door,  father. 

THE   TWO   OTHER   DAUGHTERS. 

We  cannot  shut  the  door. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Why,  children,  what  is  the  matter  with  the 
door? 

THE   UNCLE. 

You  need  not  say  that  in  such  an  extraor- 
dinary voice.  I  will  go  and  help  them. 

THE    ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

We  do  not  quite  succeed  in  closing  it. 

THE  UNCLE. 

It  is  because  of  the  damp.  Let  us  all  push 
together.  .  .  .  There  must  be  something  be- 
tween the  doors. 

THE   FATHER. 

The  carpenter  will  set  it  right  to-morrow. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  the  carpenter  coming  to-morrow? 


22  The  Intruder. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather;  he  is  coming  to  work  in 
the  cellar. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

He  will  make  a  noise  in  the  house  !  .  .  . 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

I  will  tell  him  to  work  quietly. 

[All  at  once  the  sound  of  the  sharpening  of  a 
scythe  is  heard  outside.] 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

{Startled^     Oh ! 

THE   UNCLE. 

Ursula,  what  is  that? 

THE    DAUGHTER. 

I  don't  quite  know ;  I  think  it  is  the  gar- 
dener. I  cannot  see  very  well ;  he  is  in  the 
shadow  of  the  house. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  is  the  gardener  going  to  mow. 

THE   UNCLE. 

He  mows  by  night? 

THE    FATHER. 

Is  not  to-morrow  Sunday  ?  —  Yes.  —  I  noticed 
that  the  grass  was  very  high  about  the  house. 


The  Intruder.  23 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  his  scythe  makes  as  much 
noise  — 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

He  is  mowing  near  the  house. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Can  you  see  him,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

No,  grandfather ;  he  is  in  the  dark. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  his  scythe  makes  as  much 
noise  — 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

That  is  because  you  have  a  very  sensitive  ear, 
grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  am  afraid  he  will  wake  my  daughter. 

THE   UNCLE. 

We  hardly  hear  him. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  him  as  if  he  were  mowing  in  the  house. 

THE   UNCLE. 

She  will  not  hear  it ;  there  is  no  danger. 


24  The  Intruder. 

THE   FATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  the  lamp  is  not  burning  well 
this  evening. 

THE  UNCLE. 

It  wants  filling. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  saw  it  filled  this  morning.     It  has  burnt 
badly  ever  since  the  window  was  shut. 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  think  the  chimney  is  dim. 

THE   FATHER. 

It  will  burn  better  soon. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Grandfather   is   asleep.     He    has   not   slept 
before  for  three  nights. 

THE    FATHER. 

He  has  been  very  worried. 

THE   UNCLE. 

He   always  worries   too  much.     There   are 
times  when  he  will  not  listen  to  reason. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  is  quite  excusable  at  his  age. 

THE   UNCLE. 

God  knows  what  we  shall  be  like  at  his  age  ! 


The  Intruder.  *5 

THE   FATHER. 

He  is  nearly  eighty  years  old. 

THE  UNCLE. 

Well,  then,  he  has  a  right  to  be  strange. 

THE    FATHER. 

Perhaps  we  shall  be  stranger  than  he  is. 

THE   UNCLE. 

One  does  not  know  what  may  happen.     He 
is  odd  sometimes. 

THE    FATHER. 

He  is  like  all  the  blind. 

THE   UNCLE. 

They  reflect  too  much. 

THE    FATHER. 

They  have  too  much  time  to  spare. 

THE   UNCLE. 

They  have  nothing  else  to  do. 

THE   FATHER. 

And,  besides,  they  have  no  amusements. 

THE  UNCLE. 

That  must  be  terrible. 


26  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  seems  they  get  used  to  it. 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  cannot  imagine  that. 

THE    FATHER. 

They  are  certainly  to  be  pitied. 

THE  UNCLE. 

Not  to  know  where  one  is,  not  to  know 
whence  one  has  come,  not  to  know  whither 
one  is  going,  no  longer  to  distinguish  midday 
from  midnight,  nor  summer  from  winter.  .  .  . 
And  always  that  darkness,  that  darkness  !  .  .  . 
I  would  rather  not  live.  ...  Is  it  absolutely 
incurable  ? 

THE    FATHER. 

It  appears  so. 

THE  UNCLE. 

But  he  is  not  absolutely  blind? 

THE  FATHER. 

He  can  distinguish  a  strong  light. 

THE  UNCLE. 

Let  us  take  care  of  our  poor  eyes. 

THE   FATHER. 

He  often  has  strange  ideas. 


The  Intruder.  27 

THE   UNCLE. 

There  are  times  when  he  is  not  amusing. 

THE    FATHER. 

He  says  absolutely  everything  he  thinks. 

THE   UNCLE. 

But  formerly  he  was  not  like  this? 

THE   FATHER. 

No ;  formerly  he  was  as  rational  as  we  are ; 
he  never  said  anything  extraordinary.  It  is 
true,  Ursula  encourages  him  a  little  too  much ; 
she  answers  all  his  questions  — 

THE    UNCLE. 

It  would  be  better  not  to  answer.  It 's  a 
mistaken  kindness  to  him.  \_Ten  o'clock  strikes. 

s 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

[  Waking  up.~\     Am  I  facing  the  glass  door  ? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

You  have  had  a  good  sleep,  grandfather? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Am  I  facing  the  glass  door? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather. 


28  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

There  is  no  one  at  the  glass  door? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

No,  grandfather ;  I  see  no  one. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

I  thought  some  one  was  waiting.     No  one 
has  come,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

No  one,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

\To  the  UNCLE  and  FATHER.]       And   your 
sister  has  not  come? 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  too  late  ;  she  will  not  come  now.     It  is 
not  nice  of  her. 

THE   FATHER. 

I  begin  to  be  anxious  about  her. 

[A  noise,  as  of  some  one  coming  into  the  house.] 

THE    UNCLE. 

She  is  here  !     Did  you  hear? 

THE   FATHER. 

Yes ;  some  one  has  come  in  at  the  basement. 


The  Intruder.  29 

THE    UNCLE. 

It  must  be  our  sister.     I  recognized  her  step. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  heard  slow  footsteps. 

THE    FATHER. 

She  came  in  very  softly. 

THE   UNCLE. 

She  knows  there  is  sickness.  .  .  . 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  nothing  more  now. 

THE   UNCLE. 

She  will  come  up  immediately ;  they  will  tell 
her  we  are  here. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  am  glad  she  has  come. 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  was  sure  she  would  come  this  evening. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

She  is  a  long  time  coming  up. 

THE   UNCLE. 

However,  it  must  be  she. 


30  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

We  are  not  expecting  any  one  else. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  no  noise  in  the  basement. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  will  call  the  maid.     We  must  know  what  to 
expect.  [He  pulls  the  bell-rope, 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  a  noise  on  the  stairs  already. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  is  the  maid  coming  up. 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  she  is  not  alone. 

THE    FATHER. 

It    is    because   the    maid    makes    so   much 
noise.  .   .  . 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  she  is  not  alone. 

THE    FATHER. 

She  is  getting  terribly  stout ;  I  believe  she  is 
dropsical. 


The  Intruder.  31 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  time  you  got  rid  of  her ;  you  will  have 
her  on  your  hands. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  your  sister's  step  ! 

THE    FATHER. 

I  hear  no  one  but  the  maid. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

It  is  your  sister  !     It  is  your  sister  ! 

\A  knock  at  the  secret  door. 

THE  UNCLE. 

She  is  knocking  at  the  door  of  the  private 
stairway. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  will  go  open  it  myself,  because  that  little 
door  makes  too  much  noise ;  it  is  only  used 
when  we  want  to  come  up  without  being  seen. 
\jHe  partly  opens  the  little  door ;  the  MAID- 
SERVANT remains  outside  in  the  opening.]  Where 
are  you? 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

Here,  sir. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Your  sister  is  at  the  door. 

THE    UNCLE. 

I  see  no  one  but  the  maid. 


3 2  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

There  is  no  one  there  but  the  maid.  \To 
the  MAID -SERVANT.]  Who  was  it  who  came  into 
the  house? 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

Came  into  the  house,  sir? 

THE    FATHER. 

Yes ;  some  one  came  just  now  ? 

THE  SERVANT. 

No  one  came,  sir. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Who  is  it  sighs  so  ? 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  the  maid ;  she  is  out  of  breath. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  she  crying? 

THE    UNCLE. 

Why,  no ;  why  should  she  be  crying  ? 

THE   FATHER. 

\To  the  MAID-SERVANT.]  No  one  came  in 
just  now? 

THE  MAID-SERVANT. 

No,  sir. 


The  Intruder.  33 

THE   FATHER. 

But  we  heard  the  door  open  ! 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

It  was  I  shutting  the  door,  sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  was  open  ? 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

Yes,  sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

Why  was  it  open,  at  this  hour? 

THE  MAID-SERVANT. 

I  do  not  know,  sir.     /  had  shut  it. 

THE    FATHER. 

But  then  who  was  it  opened  it? 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

I  do  not  know,  sir.     Some  one  must  have 
gone  out  after  me,  sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

You  must  be  careful.  —  Don't  push  the  door; 
you  know  what  a  noise  it  makes  ! 

THE   MAID- SERVANT. 

But  I  am  not  touching  the  door,  sir. 


34  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

But  you  are.     You  push  as  if  you  were  trying 
to  get  into  the  room. 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

But  I  am  thr.ee  steps  away  from  the  door, 
sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

Don't  talk  quite  so  loudly. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Are  you  putting  out  the  light? 

THE  ELDEST  DAUGHTER. 

No,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  it  is  dark  all  at  once. 

THE    FATHER. 

[To  the  MAID-SERVANT.]  You  may  go  down 
now ;  but  do  not  make  so  much  noise  on  the 
stairs. 

THE   MAID-SERVANT. 

I  did  not  make  any  noise  on  the  stairs,  sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  tell  you,  you  made  a  noise.  Go  down 
softly ;  you  will  wake  your  mistress. 


The  Intruder.  35 

THE   MAID-SERVANT.  . 

It  was  not  I  who  made  a  noise,  sir. 

THE    FATHER. 

And  if  any  one  comes  now,  say  that  we  are 
not  at  home. 

THE    UNCLE. 

Yes ;  say  that  we  are  not  at  home. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

[Shuddering."]     You  must  not  say  that ! 

THE    FATHER. 

.  .  .  Except  to  my  sister  and  the  doctor. 

THE  UNCLE. 

When  will  the  doctor  come? 

THE    FATHER. 

He  will  not  be  able  to  come  before  midnight. 

[He  shuts  the  door.    A  clock  is  heard  striking 
eleven.] 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

She  has  come  in? 

THE    FATHER. 

Who,  pray? 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

The  maid. 


36  The  Intruder. 

THE    FATHER. 

Why,  no ;  she  has  gone  downstairs. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

I  thought  she  was  sitting  at  the  table. 

THE   UNCLE. 

The  maid? 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

Yes. 

THE   UNCLE. 

Well,  that 's  all  that  was  lacking 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

No  one  has  come  into  the  room? 

THE    FATHER. 

Why  no ;  no  one  has  come  in. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

And  your  sister  is  rot  here? 

THE  UNCLE. 

Our  sister  has  not  come.     Where  have  your 
thoughts  wandered  ? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  want  to  deceive  me. 

THE  UNCLE. 

Deceive  you? 


The  Intruder.  37 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Ursula,  tell  me  the  truth,  for  the  love  of  God  ! 

THE   ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

Grandfather  !  Grandfather  !  what  is  the  matter 
with  you  ? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Something  has  happened  !   .  .  .  I  am  sure 
my  daughter  is  worse  !  .  .  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

Are  you  dreaming? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You   do   not  want   to  tell   me  !  .  .  .  I  see 
plainly  there  is  something !  „  .  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

In  that  case  you  see  better  than  we. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Ursula,  tell  me  the  truth. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

But  we  are  telling  you  the  truth,  grandfather  ! 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  not  speaking  in  your  natural  voice. 

THE   FATHER. 

That  is  because  you  frighten  her. 


38  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Your  voice  is  changed,  —  yours,  too  ! 

THE   FATHER. 

But  you  are  going  mad  ! 

[He  and  the  Uncle  make  signs  to  each  other 
that  the  Grandfather  has  lost  his  reason.] 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  hear  plainly  that  you  are  afraid. 

THE    FATHER. 

But  what  should  we  be  afraid  of? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Why  do  you  want  to  deceive  me? 

THE   UNCLE. 

Who  thinks  of  deceiving  you? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Why  have  you  put  out  the  light? 

THE   UNCLE. 

But  the  light  has  not  been  put  out ;  it  is  as 
light  as  before. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

It  seems  to  me  the  lamp  has  gone  down. 

THE    FATHER. 

I  see  as  well  as  usual. 


The  Intruder.  39 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  have  millstones  on  my  eyes !  Children, 
tell  me  what  is  happening  here  !  Tell  me,  for 
the  love  of  God,  you  who  can  see  !  I  am  here, 
all  alone,  in  darkness  without  end  !  I  do  not 
know  who  seats  himself  beside  me !  I  do 
not  know  what  is  happening  two  steps  from 
me  !  .  .  .  Why  were  you  speaking  in  a  low 
voice  just  now? 

THE    FATHER. 

No  one  spoke  in  a  low  voice. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  spoke  in  a  low  voice  at  the  door. 

THE    FATHER. 

You  heard  all  I  said. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  brought  some  one  into  the  room. 

THE   FATHER. 

But  I  tell  you  no  one  has  come  in  ! 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  it  your  sister  or  a  priest  ?  —  You  must  not 
try  to  deceive  me.  —  Ursula^  who  was  it  that 
came  in? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

No  one,  grandfather. 


4°  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  must   not  try  to  deceive  me ;  I  know 
what  I  know  !  —  How  many  are  we  here  ? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

There    are     six    of    us    about    the    table, 
grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  all  about  the  table? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  there,  Paul? 

THE  FATHER. 

Yes. 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  there,  Oliver? 

THE   UNCLE. 

Why,  yes ;  why,  yes ;  I  am  here,  in  my  usual 
place.     This  is  not  serious,  is  it? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  there,  Genevieve? 

ONE  OF  THE   DAUGHTERS. 

Yes,  grandfather. 


The  Intruder.  41 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  there,  Gertrude? 

ANOTHER   DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  here,  Ursula? 

THE   ELDEST    DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather,  by  your  side. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

And  who  is  that  sitting  there  ? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Where  do  you  mean,  grandfather?  —  There 
is  no  one. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

There,  there  —  in  the  midst  of  us  ! 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

But  there  is  no  one,  grandfather. 

THE    FATHER. 

We  tell  you  there  is  no  one  ! 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

But  you  do  not  see,  any  of  you  ! 


42  The  Intruder 

THE  UNCLE. 

Oh,  come  now ;  you  are  joking. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  have  no  wish  to  joke,  I  can  assure  you, 

THE  UNCLE. 

Well,  then,  believe  those  that  see. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

[  Undecidedly^    I  thought  there  was  some  one. 
...  I  believe  I  shall  not  live  much  longer.  .  .  . 

THE  UNCLE. 

Why  should  we  go  to  work  to  deceive  you  ? 
What  good  would  that  do? 

THE   FATHER. 

We  ought  clearly  to  tell  you  the  truth. 

THE   UNCLE. 

What  good  would  it  do  to  deceive  each  other  ? 

THE   FATHER. 

You  could  not  live  long  without  finding  it  out. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  wish  I  were  at  home  ! 

THE   FATHER. 

3ut  you  are  at  home  here  ! 


The  Intruder.  43 


THE   UNCLE. 

Are  we  not  at  home  ? 

THE    FATHER. 

Are  you  among  strangers? 

THE  UNCLE. 

You  are  strange  this  evening. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  is  you  who  seem  strange  to  me ! 

THE   FATHER. 

Do  you  want  anything? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  know  what  ails  me. 

THE   UNCLE. 

Will  you  take  anything? 

THE    ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

Grandfather  !    grandfather  !      What   do  yon 
want,  grandfather? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Give  me  your  little  hands,  my  children. 

THE  THREE  DAUGHTERS. 

Yes,  grandfather. 


44  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Why  are  you  all  three  trembling,  my  children  ? 

THE   ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

We  are  hardly  trembling  at  all,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  believe  you  are  all  three  pale. 

THE   ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

It  is  late,  grandfather,  and  we  are  tired. 

THE    FATHER. 

You  must  go  to  bed,  and  grandfather  too 
would  do  better  to  take  a  little  rest. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  could  not  sleep  to-night ! 

THE   UNCLE. 

We  will  wait  tor  the  doctor. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Prepare  me  for  the  truth  ! 

THE   UNCLE. 

But  there  is  no  truth  ! 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Then  I  do  not  know  what  there  is ! 


The  Intruder.  45 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  tell  you  there  is  nothing  at  all ! 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  would  like  to  see  my  poor  daughter ! 

THE    FATHER. 

But  you  know  very  well  that  is  impossible; 
she  must  not  be  wakened  needlessly. 

THE  UNCLE. 

You  will  see  her  to-morrow. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

We  hear  no  sound  in  her  room. 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  should  be  uneasy  if  I  heard  any  sound. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  is  very  long  since  I  saw  my  daughter.  .  .  . 
I  took  her  hands  yesterday  evening,  but  I  could 
not  see  her !  ...  I  no  longer  know  what  she 
is  becoming.  ...  I  no  longer  know  how  she 
is.  ...  I  am  no  longer  familiar  with  her  face. 
.  .  .  She  must  have  changed  in  these  weeks  ! 
...  I  felt  the  little  bones  of  her  cheeks  under 
my  hands.  .  .  .  There  is  nothing  but  the  dark- 
ness between  her  and  me,  and  all  of  you  !  .  .  . 
This  is  not  life  —  this  is  not  living  !  .  .  .  You 
sit  there,  all  of  you,  with  open  eyes  that  look  at 


46  The  Intruder. 

my  dead  eyes,  and  not  one  of  you  has  pity  !  .  .  . 
I  do  not  know  what  ails  me.  .  .  .  No  one  tells 
what  ought  to  be  told  me.  .  .  .  And  everything 
is  terrifying  when  you  dream  of  it !  ...  But 
why  do  you  not  speak? 

THE   UNCLE. 

What  would  you  have  us  say,  since  you  will 
not  believe  us  ? 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

You  are  afraid  of  betraying  yourselves  ! 

THE    FATHER. 

Do  be  reasonable  now. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

For  a  long  time  something  has  been  hidden 
from  me  here  !  .  .  .  Something  has  happened 
in  the  house.  .  .  .  But  I  begin  to  understand 
now.  ...  I  have  been  deceived  too  long !  — 
You  think,  then,  that  I  shall  never  find  out  any- 
thing?—  There  are  moments  when  I  am  less 
blind  than  you,  you  know  !  .  .  .  Have  I  not 
heard  you  whispering,  for  days  and  days,  as 
if  you  were  in  the  house  of  some  one  who  had 
hanged  himself?  —  I  dare  not  say  what  I  know 
this  evening.  .  .  .  But  I  will  know  the  truth  ! 
I  shall  wait  for  you  to  tell  me  the  truth ;  but  I 
have  known  it  for  a  long  time,  in  spite  of  you  !  — 
And  now,  I  feel  that  you  are  all  as  pale  as  the 
dead! 


The  Intruder.  47 

THE  THREE   DAUGHTERS. 

Grandfather !  grandfather !  What  is  the 
matter,  grandfather? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  is  not  of  you  that  I  speak,  my  children ; 
no,  it  is  not  of  you  that  I  speak.  ...  I  know 
quite  well  you  would  tell  me  the  truth,  if  they 
were  not  by  !  ...  And  besides,  I  am  sure  they 
are  deceiving  you  also.  .  .  .  You  will  see, 
children,  you  will  see  !  .  .  .  Do  I  not  hear 
all  three  of  you  sobbing? 

THE  UNCLE. 

For  my  part,  I  will  not  stay  here. 

THE   FATHER. 

Can  my  wife  really  be  so  ill? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

You  need  not  try  to  deceive  me  any  longer; 
it  is  too  late  now,  and  I  know  the  truth  better 
than  you !  .  .  . 

THE  UNCLE. 

But  after  all  we  are  not  blind,  are  we  ? 

THE   FATHER. 

Would  you  like  to  go  into  your  daughter's 
room  ?  There  is  a  mistake  here  and  a  misun- 
derstanding that  should  end.  —  Would  you  ?  .  .  . 


4^  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

No,  no ;  not  now  .  .  .  not  yet.  .  .  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

You  see  plainly,  you  are  not  reasonable. 

THE    GRANDFATHER. 

One  never  knows  all  that  a  man  has  been 
unable  to  say  in  his  life  !  .  .  .  Who  was  i», 
made  that  noise? 

THE    ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

It  is  the  flickering  of  the  lamp,  grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It  seems  to  me  it  is  very  unsteady  —  very 
unsteady. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

It  is  the  cold  wind  that  vexes  it  ...  it  is 
the  cold  wind  that  vexes  it.  ...  . 

THE   UNCLE. 

There  is  no  cold  wind,  the  windows  are  shut. 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

I  think  it  is  going  out. 

THE    FATHER,, 

The  oil  must  be  out. 


The  Intruder.  49 

THF  DAUGHTER. 

It  has  gone  entirely  out. 

THE    FATHER. 

We  cannot  stay  like  this  in  the  dark. 

THE   UNCLE. 

Why  not  ?     I  am  already  accustpmed  to  it. 

THE   FATHER. 

There  is  a  light  in  my  wife's  room. 

THE   UNCLE. 

We  will  take  it  by  and  by,  when  the  doctor 
has  come. 

THE    FATHER. 

It  is  true,  we  see  well  enough ;  there  is  light 
from  outside. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  it  light  outside  ? 

THE   FATHER. 

Lighter  than  here. 

THE  UNCLE. 

For  my  part,  I  would  as  soon  talk  in  the  dark. 

THE   FATHER. 

So  would  I.  \Silence. 


50  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

It   seems   to   me   the  clock   makes   such  a 
noise  !  .  .  . 

THE   ELDEST   DAUGHTER. 

That  is  because  we  are  not  speaking  now, 
grandfather. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

But  why  are  you  all  silent? 

THE   UNCLE. 

Of  what  would  you  have  us  speak  ?  —  You 
are  not  in  earnest  to-night. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  it  very  dark  in  the  room? 

THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  not  very  light.  \Silence. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  feel  well,  Ursula ;  open  the  window 
a  little. 

THE    FATHER. 

Yes,  daughter ;  open  the  window  a  little ;  I 
begin  to  feel  the  want  of  air  myself. 

[The  girl  opens  the  window. 

THE   UNCLE. 

I  positively  believe  we  have  stayed  shut  up 
too  long. 


The  Intruder.  51 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Is  the  window  open,  Ursula? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather ;  it  is  wide  open. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

One  would  not  have  said  it  was  open ;  there 
is  not  a  sound  outside. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

No,  grandfather ;  there  is  not  the  least  sound, 

THE   FATHER. 

The  silence  is  extraordinary  ! 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

One  could  hear  an  angel's  step. 

THE  UNCLE. 

That  is  the  reason  I  do  not  like  the  country. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  wish  I  could  hear  some  sound.     What  time 
is  it,  Ursula? 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

Almost  midnight,  grandfather. 

[Here  the  Uncle  begins  to  walk  up  and  down 
the  room.] 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Who  is  it  walking  around  like  that? 


5 2  The  Intruder. 


THE   UNCLE. 

It  is  I !  it  is  I !  Do  not  be  frightened  !  I 
feel  the  need  of  walking  a  little.  \Silence.~\  — 
But  I  am  going  to  sit  down  again,  —  I  do  not 
see  where  I  am  going.  \Silence. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  wish  I  were  somewhere  else  ! 

THE   DAUGHTER. 

Where  would  you  like  to  go,  grandfather? 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  do  not  know  where,  —  into  another  room  — 
no  matter  where  !  no  matter  where  !  .  .  . 

THE    FATHER. 

Where  should  we  go  ? 

THE  UNCLE. 

It  is  too  late  to  go  anywhere  else. 

[Silence.    They  are  sitting  motionless,  round 
the  table.] 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

What  is  that  I  hear,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Nothing,  grandfather ;  it  is  the  leaves  falling. 
Yes,  it  is  the  leaves  falling  on  the  terrace. 


The  Intruder.  53 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Go  shut  the  window,  Ursula. 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Yes,  grandfather. 

[She  shuts  the  window,  comes  back,  and  sits 
down.] 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  am  cold.     [Silence.     The  three  sisters  kiss 
each  otherJ]     What  is  it  I  hear  now  ? 

THE   FATHER. 

It  is  the  three  sisters  kissing  each  other. 

THE   UNCLE. 

It    seems   to   me    they  are  very  pale  this 
evening.  [Silence. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

What  is  it  I  hear  now,  Ursula  ? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

Nothing,  grandfather;  it  is  the  clasping  of 
my  hands.  [Silence. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

What  is  it  I  hear?  what  is  it  I  hear,  Ursula? 

THE  DAUGHTER. 

I   do  not   know,  grandfather;    perhaps   my 
sisters  —  they  are  trembling  a  little. 


54  The  Intruder. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

I  am  afraid,  too,  my  children. 

[Here  a  ray  of  moonlight  penetrates  through 
a  corner  of  the  stained  glass,  and  spreads 
strange  gleams  here  and  there  in  the  room. 
Midnight  strikes,  and  at  the  last  stroke  it 
seems  to  some  that  a  sound  is  heard,  very 
vaguely,  as  of  some  one  rising  in  all  haste.] 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

\_Shuddering  with  peculiar  horror.~\     Who  is 
it  that  rose? 

THE   UNCLE. 

No  one  rose  ! 

THE    FATHER. 

I  did  not  rise  ! 

THE  THREE   DAUGHTERS. 

Nor  I !  ...  Nor  I !  ...  Nor  I ! 

THE  GRANDFATHER. 

Some  one  rose  from  the  table  ! 

THE   UNCLE. 

Light  the  lamp ! 

[Here  suddenly  a  wail  of  fright  is  heard  ir 
the  child's  room,  on  the  right ;  and  thif 
wail  continues,  with  gradations  of  terror 
until  the  end  of  the  scene.] 

THE   FATHER. 

Listen  !  the  child  ! 


The  Intruder.  55 

THE   UNCLE. 

He  has  never  cried  before  ! 

THE   FATHER. 

Let  us  go  and  look  ! 

THE   UNCLE. 

The  light !     The  light ! 

[At  this  moment  a  hurrying  of  headlong 
heavy  steps  is  heard  in  the  room  on  the 
left.  —  Then  a  deathly  stillness.  —  They 
listen  in  a  dumb  terror,  until  the  door 
opens  slowly,  and  the  light  from  the  next 
room  falls  into  that  in  which  they  are  wait- 
ing. The  Sister  of  Charity  appears  on  the 
threshold,  in  the  black  garments  of  her 
order,  and  bows  as  she  makes  the  sign  of 
the  cross,  to  announce  the  death  of  the 
wife.  They  understand,  and,  after  a  mo- 
ment of  hesitation  and  fright,  silently  enter 
the  chamber  of  death,  while  the  Uncle 
politely  effaces  himself  at  the  doorstep,  to 
let  the  three  young  girls  pass.  The  blind 
man,  left  alone,  rises  and  gropes  excitedly 
about  the  table  in  the  darkness. 

THE   GRANDFATHER. 

Where  are  you  going?  —  Where  are  you 
going?  —  My  children! — They  have  left  me 
all  alone  ! 

[CURTAIN.] 


The  Blind. 

To  Charles  Van  Lerberghe. 


Persons. 

THE  PRIEST. 

THREE  MEN  WHO  WERE  BORN  BLIND. 

A  VERY  OLD  BLIND  MAN. 

FIFTH  BLIND  MAN  (who  is  also  deaf). 

SIXTH  BLIND  MAN  (who  can  distinguish  light 

and  darkness'). 

THREE  OLD  BLIND  WOMEN  IN  PRAYER. 
A  VERY  OLD  BLIND  WOMAN. 
A  YOUNG  BLIND  GIRL. 
A  BLIND  MADWOMAN. 
AN  INFANT,  child  of  the  MADWOMAN. 
A  DOG. 


The  Blind. 


[An  ancient  Norland  forest,  with  an  eternal 
look,  under  a  sky  of  deep  stars. 

In  the  centre,  and  in  the  deep  of  the  night,  a 
very  old  priest  is  sitting,  wrapped  in  a  great 
black  cloak.  The  chest  and  the  head, 
gently  upturned  and  deathly  motionless, 
rest  against  the  trunk  of  a  giant  hollow 
oak.  The  face  is  fearsome  pale  and  of  an 
immovable  waxen  lividness,  in  which  the 
purple  lips  fall  slightly  apart.  The  dumb, 
fixed  eyes  no  longer  look  out  from  the 
visible  side  of  Eternity  and  seem  to  bleed 
with  immemorial  sorrows  and  with  tears. 
The  hair,  of  a  solemn  whiteness,  falls  in 
stringy  locks,  stiff  and  few,  over  a  face 
more  illuminated  and  more  weary  than  all 
that  surrounds  it  in  the  watchful  stillness 
of  that  melancholy  wood.  The  hands,  piti- 
fully thin,  are  clasped  rigidly  over  the 
thighs. 

On  the  right,  six  old  men,  all  blind,  are  sitting 
on  stones,  stumps  and  dead  leaves. 

On  the  left,  separated  from  them  by  an  up- 
rooted tree  and  fragments  of  rock,  six 
women,  also  blind,  are  sitting  opposite  the 
old  men.  Three  among  them  pray  and 
mourn  without  ceasing,  in  a  muffled  voice. 
Another  is  old  in  the  extreme.  The  fifth, 
in  an  attitude  of  mute  insanity,  holds  on 
her  knees  a  little  sleeping  child.  The  sixth 
is  strangely  young,  and  her  whole  body  is 


62  The  Blind. 

drenched  with  her  beautiful  hair.  They, 
as  well  as  the  old  men,  are  all  clad  in  the 
same  ample  and  sombre  garments.  Most 
of  them  are  waiting,  with  their  elbows  on 
their  knees  and  their  faces  in  their  hands ; 
and  all  seem  to  have  lost  the  habit  of  in- 
effectual gesture  and  no  longer  turn  their 
heads  at  the  stifled  and  uneasy  noises  of 
the  Island.  Tall  funereal  trees,  —  yews, 
weeping-willows,  cypresses,  —  cover  them 
with  their  faithful  shadows.  A  cluster  of 
long,  sickly  asphodels  is  in  bloom,  not  far 
from  the  priest,  in  the  night.  It  is  un- 
usually oppressive,  despite  the  moonlight 
that  here  and  there  struggles  to  pierce  for 
an  instant  the  glooms  of  the  foliage.] 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN  (who  was  born  blind). 
He  has  n't  come  back  yet  ? 

SECOND  BLIND  MAN  (who  also  was  born  blind), 
You  have  awakened  me. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  Was  sleeping,  too. 

THIRD  BLIND  MAN  (also  born  blind) . 
I  was  sleeping,  too. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

He  has  n't  come  yet  ? 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  nothing  coming. 


The  Blind.  63 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

It  is  time  to  go  back  to  the  Asylum. 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

We  ought  to  find  out  where  we  are. 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

It  has  grown  cold  since  he  left. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

We  ought  to  find  out  where  we  are  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Does  any  one  know  where  we  are  ? 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

We  were  walking  a  very  long  while ;  we  must 
be  a  long  way  from  the  Asylum. 

FIRST   BLtND  MAN. 

Oh  !  the  women  are  opposite  us  ? 

THE   VERY  OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

We  are  sitting  opposite  you. 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

Wait,  I  am  coming  over  where  you  are. 
[He  rises  and  gropes  in  the  dark."]  —  Where 
are  you  ?  —  Speak  !  let  me  hear  where  you 
are  ! 


64  The  Blind. 

THE  VERY   OLD  BUND  WOMAN. 

Here ;  we  are  sitting  on  stones. 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

\_Advances  and  stumbles  against  the  fallen 
tree  and  the  rocksJ\  There  is  something  be- 
tween us. 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

We  had  better  keep  our  places. 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

Where  are  you  sitting  ?  —  Will  you  come 
over  by  us? 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

We  dare  not  rise  ! 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

Why  did  he  separate  us? 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  praying  on  the  women's  side. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

Yes ;  the  three  old  women  are  praying. 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN. 

This  is  no  time  for  prayer  ! 


The  Blind.  65 

SECOND  BLIND   MAN. 

You  will  pray  soon  enough,  in  the  dormitory  ! 
[The  three  old  women  continue  their  prayers.] 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

I  should  like  to  know  who  it  is  I  am  sitting 
by. 

SECOND   BLIND    MAN. 

I  think  I  am  next  to  you.     \_They  feel  about 


THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

We  can't  reach  each  other. 

FIRST  BLIND   MAN. 

Nevertheless,  we  are  not  far  apart.  \He 
feels  about  him  and  strikes  with  his  staff  the  fifth 
blind  man,  who  utters  a  muffled  groan.~\  The 
one  who  cannot  hear  is  beside  us. 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

I  don't  hear  everybody;  we  were  six  just 
now. 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

I  am  going  to  count.  Let  us  question  the 
women,  too  ;  we  must  know  what  to  depend 
upon.  I  hear  the  three  old  women  praying  all 
the  time  ;  are  they  together  ? 

THE    VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

They  are  sitting  beside  me,  on  a  rock. 


66  The  Blind. 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

I  am  sitting  on  dead  leaves. 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

And  the  beautiful  blind  girl,  where  is  she? 

THE    VERY   OLD    BLIND  WOMAN. 

She  is  near  them  that  pray. 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

Where  is  the  mad  woman,  and  her  child? 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND    GIRL. 

He  sleeps ;  do  not  awaken  him  ! 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

Oh  !  how  far  away  you  are  from  us  !  I  thought 
you  were  opposite  me  ! 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  know  —  nearly  —  all  we  need  to  know. 
Let  us  chat  a  little,  while  we  wait  for  the  priest 
to  come  back. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

He  told  us  to  wait  for  him  in  silence. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  are  not  in  a  church. 

THF  VERY   OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

You  do  act  know  where  we  are. 


The  Blind.  67 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

I  am  afraid  when  I  am  not  speaking. 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

Do  you  know  where  the  priest  went  ? 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

I  think  he  leaves  us  for  too  long  a  time. 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  getting  too  old.  It  looks  as  though  he 
himself  has  no  longer  seen  for  some  time. 
He  will  not  admit  it,  for  fear  another  should 
come  to  take  his  place  among  us  ;  but  I  sus- 
pect he  hardly  sees  at  all  any  more.  We 
must  have  another  guide ;  he  no  longer  listens 
to  us,  and  we  are  getting  too  numerous.  He 
and  the  three  nuns  are  the  only  people  in  the 
house  who  can  see ;  and  they  are  all  older  than 
we  are  !  —  I  am  sure  he  has  misled  us  and  that 
he  is  looking  for  the  road.  Where  has  he  gone  ? 

—  He  has  no  right  to  leave  us  here.  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

He  has  gone  a  long  way :  I  think  he  said  so 
to  the  women. 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

He  no  longer  speaks  except  to  the  women? 

—  Do  we  no  longer  exist  ?  —  We  shall  have  to 
complain  of  him  in  the  end. 


68  The  Blind. 

THE    VERY    OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

To  whom  will  you  complain  ? 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

I  don't  know  yet ;  we  shall  see,  we  shall  see. 
—  But  where  has  he  gone,  I  say  ?  —  I  am  asking 
the  women. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND    WOMAN. 

He  was  weary  with  walking  such  a  long  time. 
I  think  he  sat  down  a  moment  among  us.  He 
has  been  very  sad  and  very  feeble  for  several 
days.  He  is  afraid  since  the  physician  died. 
He  is  alone.  He  hardly  speaks  any  more.  I 
don't  know  what  has  happened.  He  insisted 
on  going  out  to-day.  He  said  he  wished  to 
see  the  Island,  a  last  time,  in  the  sunshine, 
before  winter  came.  The  winter  will  be  very 
long  and  cold,  it  seems,  and  the  ice  comes 
already  from  the  North.  He  was  very  uneasy, 
too :  they  say  the  storms  of  the  last  few  days 
have  swollen  the  river  and  all  the  dikes  are 
shaken.  He  said  also  that  the  sea  frightened 
him ;  it  is  troubled  without  cause,  it  seems,  and 
the  coast  of  the  Island  is  no  longer  high  enough. 
He  wished  to  see ;  but  he  did  not  tell  us  what 
he  saw.  —  At  present,  I  think  he  has  gone  to 
get  some  bread  and  water  for  the  mad  woman. 
He  said  he  would  have  to  go  a  long  way, 
perhaps.  We  must  wait. 


The  Blind.  69 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

He  took  my  hands  when  he  left ;  and  his 
hands  shook  as  if  he  were  afraid.  Then  he 
kissed  me 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Oh!  oh! 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  asked  him  what  had  happened.  He  told 
me  he  did  not  know  what  was  going  to  happen. 
He  told  me  the  reign  of  old  men  was  going  to 
end,  perhaps.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

What  did  he  mean  by  saying  that? 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND    GIRL. 

I  did  not  understand  him.  He  told  me  he 
was  going  over  by  the  great  lighthouse. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Is  there  a  lighthouse  here? 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

Yes,  at  the  north  of  the  Island.  I  believe 
we  are  not  far  from  it.  He  said  he  saw  the 
light  of  the  beacon  even  here,  through  the 
leaves.  He  has  never  seemed  more  sorrowful 
than  to-day,  and  I  believe  he  has  been  weeping 
for  several  days.  I  do  not  know  why,  but  I 
wept  also  without  seeing  him.  I  did  not  hear 


70  The  Blind. 

him  go  away.  I  did  not  question  him  any 
further.  I  was  aware  that  he  smiled  very 
gravely ;  I  was  aware  that  he  closed  his  eyes 
and  wished  to  be  silent.  .  .  . 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

He  said  nothing  to  us  of  all  that ! 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

You  do  not  listen  when  he  speaks  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

You  all  murmur  when  he  speaks  ! 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

He  merely  said  "  Good-night  "  to  us  whe*» 
he  went  away. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

It  must  be  very  late. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

He  said  "  Good-night  "  two  or  three  times 
when  he  went  away,  as  if  he  were  going  to 
sleep.  I  was  aware  that  he  was  looking  at  me 
when  he  said  "  Good-night ;  good-night."  — 
The  voice  has  a  different  sound  when  you  look 
at  any  one  fixedly. 

FIFTH    BLIND   MAIL 

fity  the  blind ! 


The  Blind.  71 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Who  is  that,  talking  nonsense? 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  it  is  he  who  is  deaf. 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

Be  quiet !  —  This  is  no  time  for  begging ! 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

Where  did  he  go  to  get  his  bread  and  water? 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

He  went  toward  the  sea. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

Nobody  goes  toward  the  sea  like  that  at  his 

age  ! 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Are  we  near  the  sea? 

THE   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

Yes ;  keep  still  a  moment ;  you  will  hear  it. 

[Murmur  of  a  sea,  near  by  and  very  calm, 
against  the  cliffs.] 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  only  the  three  old  women  praying. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

Listen   well;    you  will   hear   it   across  their 
prayers. 


72  The  Blind. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

Yes ;  I  hear  something  not  far  from  us. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

It  was  asleep  ;  one  would  say  that  it  awaked. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

He  was  wrong  to  bring  us  here ;  I  do  not 
like  to  hear  that  noise. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

You  know  quite  well  the  Island  is  not  large. 
It  can  be  heard  whenever  one  goes  outside 
the  Asylum  close. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  never  listened  to  it. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

It  seems  close  beside  us  to-day;  I  do  not 
like  to  hear  it  so  near. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

No  more  do  I ;  besides,  we  did  n't  ask  to  go 
out  from  the  Asylum. 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

We  have  never  come  so  far  as  this ;  it  was 
needless  to  bring  us  so  far. 


The  Blind.  73 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

The  weather  was  very  fine  this  morning ;  he 
wanted  to  have  us  enjoy  the  last  sunny  days, 
before  shutting  us  up  all  winter  in  the  Asylum. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

But  I  prefer  to  stay  in  the  Asylum. 

THE  VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

He  said  also  that  we  ought  to  know  some- 
thing of  the  little  Island  we  live  on.  He 
himself  had  never  been  all  over  it;  there  is  a 
mountain  that  no  one  has  climbed,  valleys  one 
fears  to  go  down  into,  and  caves  into  which  no 
one  has  ever  yet  penetrated.  Finally  he  said 
we  must  not  always  wait  for  the  sun  under  the 
vaulted  roof  of  the  dormitory;  he  wished  to 
lead  us  as  far  as  the  seashore.  He  has  gone 
there  alone. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  right.     We  must  think  of  living. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

But  there  is  nothing  to  see  outside  ! 

SECOND    BLIND  MAN. 

Are  we  in  the  sun,  now? 

THIRD   BLIND    MAN. 

Is  the  sun  still  shining? 


74  The  Blind. 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  not :  it  seems  very  late. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

What  time  is  it? 

THE    OTHERS. 

I  do  not  know.  —  Nobody  knows. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Is  it  light  still?  \To  the  sixth  blind  inan.~] 
—  Where  are  you?  —  How  is  it,  you  who  can 
see  a  little,  how  is  it  ? 

SIXTH    BLIND    MAN. 

I  think  it  is  very  dark ;  when  there  is  sun- 
light, I  see  a  blue  line  under  my  eyelids.  I 
did  see  one,  a  long  while  ago ;  but  now,  I  no 
longer  perceive  anything. 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

For  my  part,  I  know  it  is  late  when  I  am 
hungry  :  and  I  am  hungry. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

Look  up  at  the  sky;  perhaps  you  will  see 
something  there  ! 

[All  lift  their  heads  skyward,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  three  who  were  born  blind,  who 
continue  to  look  upon  the  ground.] 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

I  do  not  know  whether  we  are  under  the  sky. 


The  Blind.  75 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

The  voice  echoes  as  if  we  were  in  a  cavern. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  think,  rather,  that  it  echoes  so  because  it  is 
evening. 

THE   YOUNG  BLIND  GIRL. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  feel  the  moonlight  oj> 
my  hands. 

THE   VERY    OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

I  believe  there  are  stars ;  I  hear  them. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

So  do  I. 

FIRST    BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  no  noise. 

SECOND    BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  only  the  noise  of  our  breathing. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  the  women  are  right. 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

I  never  heard  the  stars. 

THE   TWO   OTHERS   WHO  WERE    BORN   BLIND. 

Nor  we,  either. 

[A  flight  of  night  birds  alights  suddenly  in  the 
ioliage.] 


76  The  Blind. 

SECOND    BLIND  MAN. 

Listen  !  listen  !  —  what  is  up  there  above 
us  ?  —  Do  you  hear  ? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND  MAN. 

Something  has  passed  between  us  and  the 
sky ! 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  something  stirring  over  our  heads ; 
but  we  cannot  reach  there  ! 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  do  not  recognize  that  noise.  —  I  should  like 
to  go  back  to  the  Asylum. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

We  ought  to  know  where  we  are  ! 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

I  have  tried  to  get  up ;  there  is  nothing  but 
thorns  about  me ;  I  dare  not  stretch  out  my 
hands. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  ought  to  know  where  we  are  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  cannot  know  ! 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

We  must  be  very  far  from  the  house.  I  no 
longer  understand  any  of  the  noises. 


The  Blind.  77 


THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 


For  a  long  time  I  have  smelled  the  odor  of 
dead  leaves  — 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Is  there  any  of  us  who  has  seen  the  Island  in 
the  past,  and  can  tell  us  where  we  are  ? 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

We  were  all  blind  when  we  came  here. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

We  have  never  seen. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  not  alarm  ourselves  needlessly.  He 
will  come  back  soon ;  let  us  wait  a  little  longer. 
But  in  the  future,  we  will  not  go  out  any  more 
with  him. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND    MAN. 

We  cannot  go  out  alone. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

We  will  not  go  out  at  all.  I  had  rather  not 
go  out. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

We  had  no  desire  to  go  out.  Nobody  asked 
him  to. 


78  The  Blind. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

It  was  a  feast-day  in  the  Island  ;  we  always 
go  out  on  the  great  holidays. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

He  tapped  me  on  the  shoulder  while  I  was 
still  asleep,  saying  :  "  Rise,  rise  ;  it  is  time,  the 
sun  is  shining  !  "  —  Is  it?  I  had  not  perceived 
it.  I  never  saw  the  sun. 

THE    VERY    OLD    BLIND    MAN. 

/  have  seen  the  sun,  when  I  was  very  young. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND    WOMAN. 

So  have  I ;  a  very  long  time  ago ;  when  I 
was  a  child;  but  I  hardly  remember  it  any 
longer. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

Why  does  he  want  us  to  go  out  every  time 
the  sun  shines?  Who  can  tell  the  difference? 
I  never  know  whether  I  take  a  walk  at  noon  or 
at  midnight. 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

I  had  rather  go  out  at  noon ;  I  guess  vaguely 
then  at  a  great  white  light,  and  my  eyes  make 
great  efforts  to  open. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  prefer  to  stay  in  the  refectory,  njar  the  sea- 
coal  fire ;  there  was  a  big  fire  this  morning.  .  .  . 


The  Blind.  79 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

He  could  take  us  into  the  sun  in  the  court- 
yard. There  the  walls  are  a  shelter ;  you  can- 
not go  out  when  the  gate  is  shut,  —  I  always 
shut  it.  — Why  are  you  touching  my  left  elbow? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  have  not  touched  you.     I  can't  reach  you. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  tell  you  somebody  touched  my  elbow  ! 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

It  was  not  any  of  us. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  should  like  to  go  away. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

My  God  !  my  God  !     Tell  us  where  we  are  ! 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

We  cannot  wait  for  eternity. 

[A  clock,  very  far  away,  strikes  twelve  slowly.] 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

Oh,  how  far  we  are  from  the  asylum  ! 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND    MAN. 

It  is  midnight. 


8o  The  Blind. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  noon.  —  Does  any  one  know?  —  Speak  ! 

SIXTH    BLIND    MAN. 

I  do  not  know,  but  I  think  we  are  in  the 
dark. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  don't  know  any  longer  where  I   am ;    we 
slept  too  long  — 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  am  hungry. 

THE   OTHERS. 

We  are  hungry  and  thirsty. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Have  we  been  here  long? 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

It  seems  as  if  I  had  been  here  centuries  ! 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

I  begin  to  understand  where  we  are.  .  .  . 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  ought  to  go  toward  the  side  where  it 
struck  midnight.  .  .  . 

[All  at  once  the  night  birds  scream  exultingly 
in  the  darkness  ] 


The  Blind.  81 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Do  you  hear  ?  —  Do  you  hear  ? 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

We  are  not  alone  here  ! 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  suspected  something  a  long  while  ago :  we 
are  overheard. —  Has  he  come  back? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  don't  know  what  it  is :  it  is  above  us. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

Did  the  others  hear  nothing  ?  —  You  are 
always  silent ! 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  are  listening  still. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

I  hear  wings  about  me  ! 

THE  VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

My  God  !  my  God  !     Tell  us  where  we  are  ! 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

I  begin  to  understand  where  we  are.  .  .  .  The 
Asylum  is  on  the  other  side  of  the  great  river ; 
we  crossed  the  old  bridge.  He  led  us  to  the 
north  of  the  Island.  We  are  not  far  from  the 


82  The  Blind. 

river,  and  perhaps  we  shall  hear  it  if  we  listen 
a  moment.  .  .  .  We  must  go  as  far  as  the 
water's  edge,  if  he  does  not  come  back.  .  .  ,. 
There,  night  and  day,  great  ships  pass,  and  the 
sailors  will  perceive  us  on  the  banks.  It  is 
possible  that  we  are  in  the  wood  that  surrounds 
the  lighthouse ;  but  I  do  not  know  the  way  out. 
.  .  .  Will  any  one  follow  me? 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN. 

Let  us  remain  seated  !  —  Let  us  wait,  let  us 
wait.  We  do  not  know  in  what  direction  the 
great  river  is,  and  there  are  marshes  all  about 
the  Asylum.  Let  us  wait,  let  us  wait.  .  .  .  He 
will  return  ....  he  must  return  ! 

SIXTH   BLIND  MAN. 

Does  any  one  know  by  what  route  we  came 
here  ?  He  explained  it  to  us  as  he  walked. 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

I  paid  no  attention  to  him. 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

Did  any  one  listen  to  him  ? 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  must  listen  to  him  in  the  future. 

SDCTH   BLIND   MAN. 

Were  any  of  us  born  on  the  Island  ? 


The  Blind.  83 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

You  know  very  well  we  came  from  else- 
where. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

We  came  from  the  other  side  of  the  sea. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  thought  I  should  die  on  the  voyage. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

So  did  I ;  we  came  together. 

THIRD   BLIND    MAN. 

>     We  are  all  three  from  the  same  parish. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

They  say  you  can  see  it  from  here,  on  a  clear 
day,  —  toward  the  north.  It  has  no  steeple. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  came  by  accident. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

I  come  from  another  direction.  .  .  . 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

From  where  ? 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  dare  no  longer  dream  of  it.  ...  I  hardly 
remember  any  longer  when  I  speak  of  it.  ... 
It  was  too  long  ago.  ...  It  was  colder  there 
than  here.  . 


84  The  Blind. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  come  from  very  far.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Well,  from  where? 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  could  not  tell  you.  How  would  you  have 
me  explain  !  —  It  is  too  far  from  here ;  it  is 
beyond  the  sea.  I  come  from  a  great  country. 
...  I  could  only  make  you  understand  by 
signs  :  and  we  no  longer  see.  ...  I  have  wan- 
dered too  long.  .  .  .  But  I  have  seen  the  sun- 
light and  the  water  and  the  fire,  mountains, 
faces,  and  strange  flowers.  .  .  .  There  are  none 
such  on  this  Island ;  it  is  too  gloomy  and 
too  cold.  ...  I  have  never  recognized  their 
perfume  since  I  saw  them  last.  .  .  .  And  I 
have  seen  my  parents  and  my  sisters.  ...  I 
was  too  young  then  to  know  where  I  was.  .  .  . 
I  still  played  by  the  seashore.  .  .  .  But  oh,  how 
I  remember  having  seen  !  .  .  .  One  day  I  saw 
the  snow  on  a  mountain- top.  .  .  I  began  to 
distinguish  the  unhappy  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

What  do  you  mean  ? 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  distinguish  them  yet  at  times  by  their 
voices.  ...  I  have  memories  which  are  clearer 
when  I  do  not  think  upon  them.  .  .  . 


The  Blind.  85 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  have  no  memories. 

[A  flight  of  large  migratory  birds  pass  clamor- 
ously, above  the  trees.] 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Something  is  passing  again  across  the  sky  ! 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Why  did  you  come  here  ? 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Of  whom  do  you  ask  that  ? 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Of  our  young  sister. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  was  told  he  could  cure  me.  He  told  me  I 
would  see  some  day;  then  I  could  leave  the 
Island.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

We  all  want  to  leave  the  Island  ! 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

We  shall  stay  here  always. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  too  old ;  he  will  not  have  time  to  cure 
us. 


86  The  Blind. 

THE    YOUNG    BLIND    GIRL. 

My  lids  are  shut,  but  I  feel  that  my  eyes  are 
alive.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Mine  are  open. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

I  sleep  with  my  eyes  open. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  not  talk  of  our  eyes  ! 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  not  long  since  you  came,  is  it? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

One  evening  at  prayers  I  heard  a  voice  on 
the  women's  side  that  I  did  not  recognize ;  and 
I  knew  by  your  voice  that  you  were  very 
young.  ...  I  would  have  liked  to  see  you,  to 
hear  you.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

I  did  n't  perceive  anything. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

He  gave  us  no  warning. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

They  say  you  are  beautiful  as  a  woman  who 
comes  from  very  far. 


The  Blind.  87 

THE  YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  have  never  seen  myself. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  have  never  seen  each  other.  We  ask 
and  we  reply ;  we  live  together,  we  are  always 
together,  but  we  know  not  what  we  are  !  .  .  . 
In  vain  we  touch  each  other  with  both  hands ; 
the  eyes  learn  more  than  the  hands.  .  .  . 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

I  see  your  shadows  sometimes,  when  you  are 
m  the  sun. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

We  have  never  seen  the  house  in  which  we 
live ;  in  vain  we  feel  the  walls  and  the  win- 
dows ;  we  do  not  know  where  we  live  !  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

They  say  it  is  an  old  chateau,  very  gloomy 
and  very  wretched,  where  no  light  is  ever  seen 
except  in  the  tower  where  the  priest  has  his 
room. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  no  need  of  light  for  those  who  do 
not  see. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

When  I  tend  the  flock,  in  the  neighborhood 
of  the  Asylum,  the  sheep  return  of  themselves 
when  they  see  at  nightfall  that '  light  in  the 
tower  .  .  .  They  have  never  misled  me. 


88  The  Blind. 

THE   VERY    OLD   BLIND    MAN. 

Years  and  years  we  have  been  together,  and 
we  have  never  seen  each  other !  You  would 
say  we  were  forever  alone !  ...  To  love,  one 
must  see. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  dream  sometimes  that  I  see  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  see  only  in  my  dreams  .  .  . 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

I  do  not  dream,  usually,  except  at  midnight 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Of  what  can  one  dream  where  the  hands  are 
motionless  ? 

[A  flurry  of  wind  shakes  the  forest,  and  the 
leaves  fall,  thick  and  gloomily.] 

FIFTH    BLIND     MAN. 

Who  touched  my  hands? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Something  is  falling  about  us  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

That  comes  from  above ;  I  don't  know  what 
it  is  ... 


The  Blind.  89 

•FIFTH   BLIND   MAN. 

Who  touched  my  hands  ?  —  I  was  asleep ;  let 
me  sleep  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Nobody  touched  your  hands. 

FIFTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Who  took  my  hands  ?     Answer  loudly ;  "  am 
a  little  hard  of  hearing  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  do  not  know  ourselves. 

FIFTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Has  some  one  come  to  give  us  warning? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  useless  to  reply ;  he  hears  nothing. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

It    must    be    admitted,    the    deaf    are   very 
unfortunate. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  am  weary  of  staying  seated. 

SIXTH    BLIND    MAN. 

I  am  weary  of  staying  here. 


90  The  Blind. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

It  seems  to  me  we  are  so  far  from  one 
another.  .  .  .  Let  us  try  to  get  a  little  nearer 
together,  —  it  is  beginning  to  get  cold.  .  .  . 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  dare  not  rise  !  We  had  better  stay  where 
we  are. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  do  not  know  what  there  may  be  among 
us. 

SKTH    BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  both  my  hands  are  in  blood ;  I  would 
like  to  stand  up. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

You  are  leaning  toward  me,  —  I  hear  you. 

[The  blind  madwoman  rubs  her  eyes  violently, 
groaning  and  turning  obstinately  toward  the 
motionless  priest.] 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  still  another  noise.  .  .  . 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  think  it  is  our  unfortunate  sister  rubbing 
her  eyes. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

She  is  never  doing  anything  else ;  I  hear  her 
every  night. 


The  Blind.  91 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

She  is  mad ;  she  never  speaks. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

She  has  never  spoken  since  she  had  her  chiH 
.  .  .  She  seems  always  to  be  afraid.  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

You  are  not  afraid  here,  then? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Who? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

All  the  rest  of  us. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

Yes,  yes ;  we  are  afraid. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

We  have  been  afraid  for  a  long  time. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Why  did  you  ask  that  ? 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  do  not  know  why  I  asked  it.  ...  There  is 
something  here  I  do  not  understand.  ...  It 
seems  to  me  I  hear  weeping  all  at  once  among 
us.  ... 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  no  need  to  fear ;  I  think  it  is  the 
madwoman. 


92  The   Blind. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  something  else  beside.  ...  I  am 
sure  there  is  something  else  beside.  ...  It  is 
not  that  alone  that  makes  me  afraid. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND  WOMAN. 

She  always  weeps  when  she  is  going  to  give 
suck  to  her  child. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

She  is  the  only  one  that  weeps  so. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

They  say  she  sees  still  at  times. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

You  do  not  hear  the  others  weep. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

To  weep,  one  must  see. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  smell  an  odor  of  flowers  about  us. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  smell  only  the  smell  of  the  earth. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

There  are  flowers,  —  there  are  flowers  about 
us. 


The  Blind.  93 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  smell  only  the  smell  of  the  earth. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND    WOMAN. 

I   caught    the    perfume   of  flowers    in    the 
wind.  .  .  . 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  smell  only  the  smell  of  the  earth. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  the  women  are  right. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Where  are  they  ?  —  I  will  go  pluck  them, 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

At  your  right.     Rise  ! 

[The  sixth  blind  man  rises  slowly  and  advances 
groping,  and  stumbling  against  the  bushes 
and  trees,  toward  the  asphodels,  which  he 
breaks  and  crushes  on  his  way.] 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  hear  you  breaking  the  green  stalks.     Stop  ! 
stop  ! 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

Don't   worry  yourselves    about   flowers,   but 
think  of  getting  home. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

I  no  longer  dare  return  on  my  steps. 


94  The  Blind. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

You  need  not  return.  —  Wait.  —  [She  rises. .] 
Oh,  how  cold  the  earth  is  !  It  is  going  to 
freeze.  —  [She  advances  without  hesitation 
toward  the  strange,  pale  asphodels ;  but  she  is 
stopped,  in  the  neighborhood  of  the  flowers,  by 
the  uprooted  tree  and  the  fragments  of  rock.~\ 
They  are  here.  —  I  cannot  reach  them ;  they 
are  on  your  side. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  I  am  plucking  them. 

[He  plucks  the  scattered  flowers,  gropingly, 
and  offers  them  to  her ;  the  night  birds 
fly  away.] 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

It  seems  to  me  I  saw  these  flowers  in  the  old 
days.  ...  I  no  longer  know  their  name.  .  .  . 
Alas,  how  sickly  they  are,  and  how  soft  the  stems 
are  !  I  hardly  recognize  them.  ...  I  think  it 
is  the  flower  of  the  dead. 

[She  twines  the  asphodels  in  her  hair.] 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  the  noise  of  your  hair. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

It  is  the  flowers. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

We  shall  not  see  you.  ,  .  . 


The  Blind.  95 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

I  shall  not  see  myself,  any  more.  ...  I  am 
cold. 

[At  this  moment  the  wind  rises  in  the  forest, 
and  the  sea  roars  suddenly  and  with  vio- 
lence against  cliffs  very  near.] 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

It  thunders  ! 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  there  is  a  storm  rising. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  think  it  is  the  sea. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

The  sea  ?  —  Is  it  the  sea  ?  —  But  it  is  hardly 
two  steps  from  us  !  —  It  is  at  our  feet !  I  hear 
it  all  about  me  !  —  It  must  be  something  else  ! 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND    GIRL. 

I  hear  the  noise  of  breakers  at  my  feet. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  it  is  the  wind  in  the  dead  leaves. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  the  women  are  right. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

It  will  come  here  ! 


96  The  Blind. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

What  direction  does  the  wind  come  from? 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

It  comes  from  the  sea. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

It  always  comes  from  the  sea.  The  sea 
surrounds  us  on  all  sides.  It  cannot  come 
from  anywhere  else.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  not  keep  on  thinking  of  the  sea  ! 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

We  must  think  of  it.     It  will  reach  us  soon. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

You  do  not  know  if  it  be  the  sea. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  its  surges  as  if  I  could  dip  both  hands 
in  them.  We  cannot  stay  here  !  It  is  perhaps 
all  about  us. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Where  would  you  go  ? 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

No  matter  where  !  no  matter  where  !  I  will 
not  hear  this  noise  of  waters  any  longer  !  Let 
us  go  !  Let  us  go  ! 


The  Blind.  97 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  think  I  hear  something  else.  —  Listen ! 

[A  sound  of  footfalls  is  heard,  hurried  and  faf 
away,  in  the  dead  leaves.] 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  something  coming  this  way. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

He    is   coming !      He   is   coming !      He   is 
coming  back ! 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  coming  with  little  quick  steps,  like  a 
little  child. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  make  no  complaints  to  him  to-day. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  believe  that  is  not  the  step  of  a  man  ! 

[A  great  dog  enters  in  the  forest,  and  passes 
in  front  of  the  blind  folk.  —  Silence.] 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Who 's  there  ?  —  Who  are  you  ?  —  Have  pity 
on  us,  we  have  been  waiting  so  long !  .  .  . 
[The  dog  stops,  and  coming  to  the  blind  man, 
puts  his  fore  paws  on  his  kneesJ]  Oh,  oh, 
what  have  you  put  on  my  knees?  What  is  it? 
...  Is  it  an  animal?  —  I  believe  it  is  a  dog. 
.  .  .  Oh,  oh,  it  is  the  dog,  it  is  the  Asylum  dog  ! 
Come  here,  sir,  come  here  !  He  comes  to  save 
us  !  Come  here  !  come  here,  sir  ! 


98  The  Blind. 

THE   OTHERS. 

Come  here,  sir  !  come  here  ! 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

He  has  come  to  save  us  !  He  has  followed 
our  tracks  all  the  way  !  He  is  licking  my  hands 
as  if  he  had  just  found  me  after  centuries  !  He 
howls  for  joy !  He  is  going  to  die  for  joy ! 
Listen,  listen  ! 

THE   OTHERS. 

Come  here  !     Come  here  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

Perhaps  he  is  running  ahead  of  some- 
body .  .  . 

FIRST     BLIND   MAN. 

No,  no,  he  is  alone.  —  I  hear  nothing  coming. 
—  We  need  no  other  guide ;  there  is  none 
better.  He  will  lead  us  wherever  we  want  to 
go ;  he  will  obey  us  ... 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  dare  nof  follow  him.  .  .  . 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

/lor  I. 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

Why  not?     His  sight  is  better  than  ours. 


The  Blind.  99 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Don't  listen  to  the  women  ! 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  there  is  a  change  in  the  sky.  I 
breathe  freely.  The  air  is  pure  now  .  .  . 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

It  is  the  sea  wind  passing  about  us. 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

It  seems  to  me  it  is  getting  lighter ;  I  believe 
the  sun  is  rising  .  .  . 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  believe  it  is  getting  colder.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

We  are  going  to  find  our  way  again.  He  is 
dragging  me  !  ...  he  is  dragging  me.  He  is 
drunk  with  joy  !  —  I  can  no  longer  hold  him 
back !  .  .  .  Follow  me,  follow  me.  We  are 
going  back  to  the  house  !  .  .  . 

[He  rises,  dragged  by  the  dog,  who  leads  him 
to  the  motionless  priest,  and  stops.] 

THE   OTHERS. 

Where  are  you  ?  Where  are  you  ?  —  Where 
are  you  going  ?  —  Take  care  ! 


ioo  The  Blind. 


FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 


Wait,  wait !  Do  not  follow  me  yet ;  I  will 
come  back  .  .  .  He  is  stopping.  —  What  is  the 
matter  with  him?  —  Oh,  oh,  I  touched  some- 
thing very  cold  ! 


SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 


What  are  you  saying  ?  —  We  can  hardly  hear 
your  voice  any  longer. 


FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 


I  have  touched  —  I  believe  I  am  touching  a 
face  ! 


THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 


What  are  you  saying  ?  —  We  hardly  under- 
stand you  any  longer.  What  is  the  matter  with 
you  ?  —  Where  are  you  ?  —  Are  you  already  so 
far  away  ? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Oh,  oh,  oh  !  —  I  do  not  know  yet  what  it  is. 
—  There  is  a  dead  man  in  the  midst  of  us. 

THE   OTHERS. 

A  dead  man  in  the  midst  of  us  ?  —  Where 
are  you  ?  Where  are  you  ? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

There  is  a  dead  man  among  us,  I  tell  you  ! 
Oh,  oh,  I  touched  a  dead  man's  face  !  —  You 
are  sitting  beside  a  dead  man !  One  of  us 


The  Blind.  101 

must  have  died  suddenly.  Why  don't  you 
speak,  so  that  I  may  know  who  are  still  alive  ? 
Where  are  you  ?  —  Answer  !  answer,  all  of  you  ! 

[The  blind  folk  reply  in  turn,  with  the  excep- 
tion of  the  madwoman  and  the  deaf  man. 
The  three  old  women  have  ceased  their 
prayers.] 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I   no   longer   distinguish   your  voices  .  .  . 
You  all  speak  alike  !  .  .  .  Your  voices  are  aU 
trembling. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

There  are  two  that  have  not  answered  .  .  . 
Where  are  they? 

[He  touches  with  his  stick  the  fifth  blind  man.] 

FIFTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Oh  !  oh  !  I  was  asleep ;  let  me  sleep  ! 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  not  he.  —  Is  it  the  madwoman  ? 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

She  is  sitting  beside  me ;  I  can  hear  that  she 
is  alive  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  ...  I  believe  it  is  the  priest !  — 
He  is  standing  up  !     Come,  come,  come  ! 


102  The  Blind. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  standing  up  ? 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

Then  he  is  not  dead  ! 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

Where  is  he? 

SIXTH    BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  go  see  ! 

[They  all  rise,  with  the  exception  of  the  mad- 
woman and  the  fifth  blind  man,  and  advance, 
groping,  toward  the  dead.] 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

Is  he  here  ?  —  Is  it  he  ? 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

Yes,  yes,  I  recognize  him. 

FIRST    BLIND  MAN. 

My  God  i  my  God  !  what  will  become  of  us  ? 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND    WOMAN. 

Father  !  father  !  —  Is  it  you  ?  Father,  what 
has  happened  ?  —  What  is  the  matter  ?  — 
Answer  us  !  —  We  are  all  about  you.  Oh  ! 
oh!  oh! 

THE   VERY  OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Bring  some  water ;  perhaps  he  still  lives. 


The   Blind.  10; 


SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 


Let  us  try  ...  He  might  perhaps  be  able 
to  take  us  back  to  the  Asylum  .  .  . 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  useless ;  I  no  longer  hear  his  heart.  — 
He  is  cold. 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

He  died  without  speaking  a  word. 

THIRD  BLIND   MAN. 

He  ought  to  have  forewarned  us. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

Oh  !  how  old  he  was !  .  .  .  This  is  the  first 
time  I  ever  touched  his  face  ... 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

[  Feeling  the  corpse '.]     He  is  taller  than  we. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

His  eyes  are  wide  open.     He  died  with  hi? 
hands  clasped. 

FIRST    BLIND   MAN. 

It  was  unreasonable  to  die  so  ... 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  not  standing  up,   he   is   sitting  on  9 
atone. 


104  The  Blind. 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND    WOMAN. 

My  God  !  ray  God  !  I  did  not  dream  of 
such  a  thing  !  .  .  .  such  a  thing  !  .  .  .  He  has 
been  sick  such  a  long  time  .  .  .  He  must  have 
suffered  to-day  .  .  .  Oh,  oh,  oh  !  —  He  never 
complained ;  he  only  pressed  our  hands  .  .  . 
One  does  not  always  understand  .  .  .  One 
never  understands  !  .  .  .  Let  us  go  pray  about 
him ;  go  down  on  your  knees  .  .  . 

[The  women  kneel,  moaning.] 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

I  dare  not  go  down  on  my  knees. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

You  cannot  tell  what  you  might  kneel  on 
here. 

THIRD    BLIND   MAN. 

Was  he  ill?  ...  He  did  not  tell  us  ... 

SECOND    BLIND    MAN. 

I  heard  him  muttering  in  a  low  voice  as  he 
went  away.  I  think  he  was  speaking  to  OUT 
young  sister.  What  did  he  say? 

FIRST    BLIND    MAN. 

She  will  not  answer. 

SECOND   BLIND   MAN. 

Will  you  no  longer  answer  us?  —  Where  are 
you,  I  say?  —  Speak. 


The  Blind.  105 

THE  VERY   OLD  BLIND  WOMAN. 

You  made  him  suffer  too  much;  you  have 
made  him  die.  .  .  .  You  would  not  go  on ;  you 
would  sit  down  on  the  stones  of  the  road  to 
eat ;  you  have  grumbled  all  day  ...  I  heard 
him  sigh  .  .  .  He  lost  heart.  .  .  . 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Was  he  ill?     Did  you  know  it? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND  MAN. 

We  knew  nothing  .  .  .  We  never  saw  him. 
.  .  .  When  did  we  ever  know  anything  behind 
our  poor  dead  eyes?  .  .  .  He  never  com- 
plained. Now  it  is  too  late  ...  I  have  seen 
three  die  .  .  .  but  never  in  this  way  !  .  .  .  Now 
it  is  our  turn. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

/ 

It  was  not  I  that  made  him  suffer.  —  I  said 
nothing. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

No  more  did  I.  We  followed  him  without 
saying  anything. 

THIRD   BLIND  MAN. 

He  died,  going  after  water  for  the  mad- 
woman. 

FIRST  BLIND   MAN. 

What  are  we  going  to  do  now?  Where  shall 
we  go? 


io6  The  Blind. 

THIRD   BLIND    MAN. 

Where  is  the  dog? 

FIRST  BLIND   MAN. 

Here;  he  will  not  go  away  from  the  dead 
man. 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

Drag  him  away !  Take  him  off,  take  him 
off! 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

He  will  not  leave  the  dead  man. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

We  cannot  wait  beside  a  dead  man.  We 
cannot  die  here  in  the  dark. 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  remain  together ;  let  us  not  scatter ; 
let  us  hold  one  another  by  the  hand ;  let  us  all 
sit  on  this  stone  .  .  .  Where  are  the  others? 
.  .  .  Come  here,  come,  come  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

Where  are  you? 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

Here ;  I  am  here.  Are  we  all  together?  — 
Come  nearer  me.  —  Where  are  your  hands? 
—  It  is  very  cold. 


The  Blind.  107 

THE    YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

Oh,  how  cold  your  hands  are  ! 

THIRD  BLIND   MAN. 

What  are  you  doing? 

THE    YOUNG  BLIND  GIRL. 

I   was   putting  my   hands   on   my   eyes;     I 
thought  I  was  going  to  see  all  at  once  .  .  . 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN. 

Who  is  weeping  so? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

It  is  the  madwoman  sobbing. 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN. 

And  yet  she  does  not  know  the  truth. 

THE  VERY   OLD  BLIND  MAN. 

I  think  we  are  going  to  die  here. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND  WOMAN. 

Perhaps  some  one  will  come  .  .  . 

THE  VERY    OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

Who  else  would  come?  .  .  . 

THE  VERY  OLD  BLIND  WOMAN. 

I  do  not  know. 


io8  The  Blind. 

FIRST  BLIND  MAN. 

I   think   the  nuns   will    come  out  from  the 
Asylum  .  .  . 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

They  do  not  go  out  after  dark. 

THE  YOUNG  BLIND  GIRL. 

They  never  go  out. 

SECOND   BLIND  MAN. 

I  think  the  men  at  the  great  lighthouse  will 
perceive  us  ... 

THE  VERY  OLD    BLIND  MAN. 

They  never  come  down  from  their  tower. 

THIRD  BLIND  MAN. 

They  will  see  us,  perhaps.  .  .  . 

THE  VERY  OLD  BLIND  WOMAN. 

They  look  always  out  to  sea. 

THIRD   BLIND    MAN. 

It  is  cold. 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND  MAN. 

Listen  to  the   dead  leaves.     I  believe  it  is 
freezing. 

THE   YOUNG  BLIND   GIRL. 

Oh  !  how  hard  the  earth  is  ! 


The  Blind.  109 

THIRD  BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  on  my  left  a  sound  I  do  not  under- 
stand. 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND    MAN. 

It  is  the  sea  moaning  against  the  rocks. 

THIRD   BLIND  MAN. 

I  thought  it  was  the  women. 

THE   VERY  OLD    BLIND  WOMAN. 

I  hear  the  ice  breaking  under  the  surf. 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

Who  is  shivering  so?     It  shakes  everybody 
on  the  stone. 

SECOND    BLIND  MAN. 

I  can  no  longer  open  my  hands. 

THE  VERY   OLD  BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  again  a  sound  I  do  not  understand. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Who  is  shivering  so  among  us?     It  shakes 
the  stone. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND  MAN. 

I  think  it  is  a  woman. 

THE  VERY   OLD  BLIND  WOMAN. 

I   think    the   madwoman   is    shivering    the 
hardest. 


no  The  Blind. 

THIRD    BLIND    MAN. 

We  do  not  hear  her  child. 

THE  VERY  OLD    BLIND  WOMAN. 

I  think  he  is  still  nursing. 

THE  VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

He  is  the  only  one  who  can  see  where  we 
are  ! 

FIRST   BLIND  MAN. 

I  hear  the  north  wind. 

SIXTH  BLIND  MAN. 

I  think  there  are  no  more  stars ;  it  is  going 
to  snow. 

SECOND  BLIND  MAN. 

Then  we  are  lost ! 

THIRD  BLIND   MAN. 

If  any  one  sleeps,  he  must  be  aroused. 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND    MAN. 

Nevertheless,  I  am  sleepy. 

[A  sudden  gust  sweeps  the  dead  leaves  around 
in  a  whirlwind.] 

THE   YOUNG  BLIND  GIRL. 

Do  you  hear  the  dead  leaves  ?  —  I  believe 
one  is  coming  toward  us. 


The  Blind.  m 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

It  is  the  wind ;  listen  ! 

THIRD   BLIND   MAN. 

No  one  will  ever  come. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

The  great  cold  will  come  .  .  . 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  hear  walking  far  off. 

FIRST   BLIND    MAN. 

I  hear  only  the  dead  leaves. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  hear  walking  far  away  from  us. 

SECOND    BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  only  the  north  wind. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

I  tell  you,  some  one  is  coming  toward  us. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

I  hear  a  sound  of  very  slow  footsteps. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

I  believe  the  women  are  right. 

[It  begins  to  snow  in  great  flakes.] 


ii2  The  Blind. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Oh,  oh !  what  is  it  falling  so  cold  upon  my 
hands  ? 

SIXTH    BLIND    MAN. 

It  is  snowing. 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Let  us  press  close  to  one  another. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

No,  but  listen  !     The  sound  of  footsteps  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

For  God's  sake,  keep  still  an  instant. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND    GIRL. 

They  come  nearer !  they  come  nearer ! 
listen  ! 

[Here  the  child  of  the  blind  madwoman  begins 
suddenly  to  wail  in  the  darkness.] 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

The  child  is  crying. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

He  sees  !  he  sees  !  He  must  see  something 
if  he  cries.  [She  seizes  the  child  in  her  arms 
and  advances  in  the  direction  from  which  the 
sound  of  footsteps  seems  to  come.  The  other 
women  follow  her  anxiously  and  surround  her.~\ 
I  am  going,  to  meet  him. 


The  Blind.  113 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

Take  care. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

Oh,  how  he  cries  !  —  What  is  the  matter  with 
him  ?  —  Don't  cry.  —  Don't  be  afraid ;  there  is 
nothing  to  frighten  you,  we  are  here ;  we  are 
all  about  you.  —  What  do  you  see? —  Don't  be 
afraid  at  all.  —  Don't  cry  so  !  —  What  do  you 
see  ?  —  Tell  me,  what  do  you  see  ? 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

The  sound  of  footsteps  draws  nearer  and 
nearer :  listen,  listen  ! 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   MAN. 

I  hear  the  rustling  of  a  gown  against  the 
dead  leaves. 

SIXTH   BLIND   MAN. 

Is  it  a  woman  ? 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND   MAN. 

Is  it  a  noise  of  footsteps  ? 

FIRST   BLIND   MAN. 

Can  it  be  perhaps  the  sea  in  the  dead  leaves? 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

No,  no  !  They  are  footsteps,  they  are  foot- 
steps, they  are  footsteps ! 


H4  The  Blind. 

THE   VERY   OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

We  shall  know  soon.  Listen  to  the  dead 
leaves. 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND   GIRL. 

I  hear  them,  I  hear- them  almost  beside  us; 
listen,  listen  !  —  What  do  you  see  ?  What  do 
you  see? 

THE   VERY    OLD    BLIND   WOMAN. 

Which  way  is  he  looking? 

THE   YOUNG    BLIND    GIRL. 

He  keeps  following  the  sound  of  the  steps.  — 
Look,  look  !  When  I  turn  him  away,  he  turns 
back  to  see  .  .  .  He  sees,  he  sees,  he  sees  !  — 
He  must  see  something  strange  ! 

THE   VERY  OLD  BLIND  WOMAN   \Steppitlg forward~\ . 

Lift  him  above  us,  so  that  he  may  see  better. 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

Stand  back,  stand  back.  \She  raises  the 
child  above  the  group  of  blind  folk. ~\  —  The  foot- 
steps have  stopped  amongst  us. 

THE  VERY  OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

They  are  here  !  They  are  in  the  midst  of 
us!  . 


The  Blind.  115 

THE   YOUNG   BLIND   GIRL. 

Who  are  you?  [Silence. 

THE   VERY   OLD   BLIND   WOMAN. 

Have  pity  on  us  ! 

[Silence.  —  The  child  weeps  more  desperately.] 


[CURTAIN.] 


The  Seven  Princesses. 


Persons. 

THE  OLD  KING. 
THE  OLD  QUEEN. 
THE  PRINCE. 
THE  SEVEN  PRINCESSES. 
A  MESSENGER. 
CHORUS  OF  SAILORS. 


The  Seven  Princesses. 


[A  spacious  hall  of  marble,  with  laurel,  laven- 
der, and  lilies  in  porcelain  vases.  A  flight 
of  seven  white  marble  steps  divides  the 
whole  hall  lengthwise,  and  seven  princesses, 
in  white  gowns  and  with  bare  arms,  lie 
sleeping  on  these  steps,  which  are  furnished 
with  cushions  of  pale  silk.  A  silver  lamp 
shines  on  their  sleep.  At  the  back  of  the 
hall,  a  door  with  powerful  bolts.  To  the 
right  and  left  of  this  door  large  windows 
whose  panes  reach  down  to  the  level  of 
the  tiles.  Behind  these  windows,  a  terrace. 
The  sun  is  just  setting,  and  through  the 
panes  a  dark,  marshy  country  is  seen,  with 
pools  and  forests  of  oaks  and  pines.  Ver- 
tically with  one  of  the  windows,  between 
huge  willows,  a  gloomy  canal  without  a 
bend,  on  the  horizon  of  which  a  large  man- 
of-war  approaches. 

The  old  King,  the  old  Queen  and  the  Mes- 
senger come  forward  upon  the  terrace  and 
watch  the  approach  of  the  man-of-war.] 

THE   QUEEN. 

It  comes  with  all  sails  set.  .  .  . 

THE    KING. 

I  do  not  see  it  well  through  the  fog.  .  .  . 


122         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

They  are  rowing  —  they  are  all  rowing.  .  .  . 
I  believe  they  are  going  to  come  to  the  very 
windows  of  the  chateau.  .  .  .  You  would  say 
it  had  a  thousand  feet  .  .  .  the  sails  touch 
the  branches  of  the  willows.  .  .  . 

KING. 
It  looks  larger  than  the  canal.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
They  are  stopping.  .  .  . 

KING. 

I  do  not  know  how  they  will  be  able  to  go 
back.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

They  are  stopping  .  .  .  they  are  stopping. 
They  are  coming  to  anchor.  .  .  .  They  are 
making  fast  to  the  willows.  .  .  .  Oh  !  oh  !  I 
believe  the  prince  is  coming  down  — .  .  . 

KING. 

Just  look  at  the  swans.  .  .  .  They  are  going 
to  meet  him.  .  .  .  They  are  going  to  see  what 
it  is.  ... 

QUEEN. 

&re  they  still  asleep? 

[They  come  and  look  through  the  windows 
into  the  hall.] 


The  Seven  Princesses.         123 

KING. 

Let  us  wake  them.  ...  I  told  you  so  a  long 
while  ago ;  they  must  be  wakened.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Let  us  wait  till  he  come.  ...  It  is  too  late 
now.  .  .  .  He  is  here ;  he  is  here  !  —  My  God, 
my  God  !  what  shall  we  do  ?  —  I  dare  not !  I 
dare  not !  .  .  .  They  are  too  ill.  .  .  . 

KING. 

Shall  I  open  the  door? 
QUEEN. 

No,  no  !  Wait !  Let  us  wait !  —  Oh,  how 
they  sleep  !  how  they  still  sleep  !  .  .  .  They  do 
not  know  he  has  come  back  —  they  do  not 
know  he  is  here.  ...  I  dare  not  wake  them 
.  .  .  the  physician  forbade  it  ...  let  us  not 
wake  them.  .  .  .  Let  us  not  wake  them  yet. 
.  .  .  Oh,  oh  !  I  hear  a  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  bridge.  .  .  . 

KING. 

He  is  here  !  He  is  here  1  ...  He  is  at  the 
foot  of  the  terrace  !  .  .  . 

\_They  leave  the  window. 

QUEEN. 

Where  is  he?  Where  is  he?  —  Is  it  he?  — 
I  should  no  longer  know  him  !  .  .  .  Yes,  yes ; 
I  should  know  him  still !  Oh,  how  tall  he  is  ! 


124         The  Seven  Princesses. 

how  tall  he  is  !  He  is  at  the  foot  of  the  steps ! 
.  .  .  Marcellus  !  Marcellus  !  Is  it  you  ?  Is  it 
you  ?  —  Come  up  !  come  up  !  We  are  so  old  — 
we  can  no  longer  come  down  to  you.  .  .  .  Come 
up  !  come  up  !  come  up  ! 

KING. 

Take  care  you  do  not  fall !  .  .  .  the  steps 
are  very  old  .  .  .  they  all  shake.  .  .  .  Take 
care  !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Come  up  !  come  up  !  come  up  ! 

[The  Prince  ascends  to  the  terrace  and  throws 
himself  in  the  arms  of  the  King  and  Queen.] 

THE   PRINCE. 

My  poor  grandam  !     My  poor  grandfather  ! 

[They  kiss. 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  how  handsome  you  are  !  —  How  you  have 
grown,  my  child  !  —  How  tall  you  are,  my  little 
Marcellus  !  —  I  do  not  see  you  well ;  my  eyea 
are  full  of  tears.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Oh,  my  poor  grandam,  how  white  your  hair 
is  !  ...  Oh,  my  poor  grandfather,  how  white 
your  beard  is  !  ... 

KING. 

We  are  poor  little  old  people ;  our  turn  is 
coming.  .  .  . 


The  Seven   Princesses.         125 

PRINCE. 

Grandfather,  grandfather,  why  do  you  bend 
so? 

KING. 

I  am  always  bent.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

We  have  waited  for  you  so  long !  .  .  . 
PRINCE. 

Oh,  my  poor  grandam,  how  you  tremble  this 
evening !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

I  always  tremble  so,  my  child.  .  .  . 
PRINCE. 

Oh,  my  poor  grandfather !  Oh,  my  poor 
grandam  !  I  hardly  know  you  any  longer.  .  .  . 

KING. 

No  more  do  I !  no  more  do  I !  I  no  longer 
see  very  well.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Where  have  you  been  so  long,  my  child?  — 
Oh,  how  tall  you  are  !  —  You  are  taller  than  we  ! 
.  .  .  There,  there,  I  am  weeping  as  if  you  were 
dead! 

PRINCE. 

Why  do  you  receive  me  with  tears  in  your 
eyes? 


126         The  Seven   Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

No,  no,  it  is  not  tears,  my  child.  ...  It  is 
not  the  same  thing  as  tears.  .  .  .  Nothing  has 
happened.  .  .  .  Nothing  has  happened.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
Where  are  my  seven  cousins? 

QUEEN. 

Here,  here ;  listen,  listen.  ...  do  not  speak 
too  loud ;  they  sleep  still ;  we  must  not  speak 
of  those  who  sleep  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

They  sleep  ?  .  .  .  Are  they  still  living,  —  all 
seven?  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Yes,  yes,  yes ;  take  care,  take  care.  .  .  .  They 
are  asleep  here ;  they  are  always  asleep.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

They  are  always  asleep?  .  .  .  What?  what? 
what?  —  Do  they — ?  ...  all  seven!  all 
seven  !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  oh,  oh !  what  did  you  think?  .  .  .  what 
did  you  dare  think,  Marcellus,  Marcellus? 
Take  care  !  —  They  are  here ;  come,  look 
through  the  window  .  .  .  come,  look.  .  .  . 
Quick,  quick ;  come  quick !  It  is  time  to  see 
them.  .  .  . 

[They  draw  near  the  windows  and  look  into 
the  hall.    A  long  silence.] 


The  Seven  Princesses.         127 

PRINCE. 

It  is  my  seven  cousins?  ...  I  do  not  see 
plainly.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Yes,  yes ;  they  are  all  seven  there  on  the  steps. 
.  .  .  Do  you  see  them  ?  Do  you  see  them  ? 

PRINCE. 
I  see  only  some  white  shadows.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

It  is  your  seven  cousins !  .  .  .  Do  you  see 
them  in  the  mirrors?  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
It  is  my  seven  cousins  ?  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Pray,  look  in  the  mirrors  at  the  very  end  of 
the  hall  .  .  .  you  will  see  them;  you  will  see 
them.  .  .  .  Come  here,  come  here;  you  will 
see  better,  perhaps. 

PRINCE. 

I  see  !  I  see  !  I  see  !  I  see  them,  —  all 
seven  !  .  .  .  One,  two,  three  \he  hesitates  a 
moment],  four,  five,  six,  seven.  ...  I  hardly 
recognize  them.  ...  I  do  not  recognize  them 
at  all.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  white  they  are,  all  seven  ! 
.  .  .  Oh,  how  fair  they  are,  all  seven  !  .  .  .  Oh, 
how  pale  they  are,  all  seven !  .  .  .  But  why  do 
all  the  seven  sleep  ? 


128         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

They  always  sleep.  .  .  .  They  have  slept 
here  since  noon.  .  .  .  They  are  so  ill !  ... 
You  can  no  longer  wake  them.  .  .  .  They  did 
not  know  you  were  about  to  come.  .  .  .  We 
have  not  dared  wake  them.  .  .  .  We  must  wait. 
.  .  .  They  must  awake  of  themselves.  .  .  .  They 
are  not  happy ;  it  is  not  our  fault.  .  .  .  We  are 
too  old,  too  old  ;  everybody  is  too  old  for  them. 
.  .  .  People  are  too  old  without  knowing  it.  ... 

PRINCE. 

Oh,  how  beautiful  they  are  !  how  beautiful 
they  are  !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

They  hardly  live  any  longer  since  they  have 
been  here ;  —  they  have  been  here  ever  since 
their  parents  died.  ...  It  is  too  cold  in  this 
chateau.  .  .  .  They  come  from  the  warm  coun- 
tries. .  .  .  They  are  alway  seeking  the  sun- 
shine ;  but  there  is  almost  none.  .  .  .  There 
was  a  little  on  the  canal  this  morning;  but 
the  trees  are  too  tall;  there  is  too  much 
shade ;  there  is  nothing  but  shade.  .  .  .  There 
are  too  many  fogs,  and  the  sky  is  never  clear. 
...  —  Oh,  how  you  look  at  them  !  —  Do  you 
see  anything  extraordinary? 

PRINCE. 
Oh,  how  pale  they  are,  all  seven  ! 


The  Seven  Princesses.         129 

QUEEN: 

They  are  still  fasting.  .  .  .  They  could  not 
stay  in  the  garden  any  longer ;  the  lawn  daz- 
zled them.  .  .  .  They  have  the  fever.  .  .  . 
They  returned  this  noon  holding  one  another 
by  the  hand.  .  .  .  They  are  so  weak  they  can 
hardly  walk  alone  now.  .  .  .  They  shook  with 
fever,  —  all  seven.  And  no  one  knows  what 
ails  them.  ...  They  sleep  here  every  day. 

PRINCE. 

They  are  strange.  .  .  .  Oh,  oh,  they  are 
strange  !  .  .  .  I  dare  no  longer  look  at  them. 
Is  this  their  bedchamber? 

QUEEN. 

No,  no  ;  it  is  not  their  bedchamber.  .  .  .  You 
see  plainly;  there  are  no  beds.  Their  seven 
little  beds  are  above,  —  in  the  tower.  .  .  .  They 
are  here,  waiting  for  the  night. 

PRINCE. 
I  begin  to  make  them  out.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Draw  near,  draw  near;  but  do  not  touch 
the  windows.  .  .  .  You  will  see  better  when  the 
sun  has  set;  it  is  too  light  still  outside.  .  .  . 
You  will  see  better  soon.  Stand  close  to  the 
window-panes;  but  make  no  noise.  .  .  . 


130        The  Seven  Princesses. 

PRINCE. 
Oh,  how  light  it  is  in  the  hall !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

It  will  be  lighter  still  when  the  night  has 
come.  ...  It  is  about  to  fall.  .  .  . 

KING. 
What  is  that  about  to  fall? 

QUEEN. 

I  spoke  of  the  night.  —  Do  you  see  anything  ? 

PRINCE. 
There  is  a  great  crystal  vase  upon  a  tripod.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

That  is  nothing;  it  is  water;  they  are  so 
thirsty  when  they  wake  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
But  why  is  that  lamp  burning? 

QUEEN. 

They  always  light  it.  They  knew  they  would 
sleep  a  long  time.  They  lighted  it  this  noon 
that  they  might  not  wake  in  the  darkness.  .  .  . 
They  are  afraid  of  the  dark.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
They  have  grown  tall ! 


The  Seven  Princesses.         I31 

QUEEN. 

They  are  growing  yet.  .  .  .  They  are  getting 
too  tall.  ...  It  is  perhaps  that  which  makes 
them  so  ill.  .  .  .  Do  you  recognize  them? 

PRINCE. 

I  should  recognize  them,  perhaps,  if  I  saw 
them  in  broad  daylight.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

You  have  played  so  often  with  them  when 
they  were  little.  .  .  .  Open  your  eyes.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
I  see  plainly  only  their  little  bare  feet.  .  .   . 

KING. 

\_Looking  in  at  another  window."]  I  cannot 
see  in  very  clearly  this  evening.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
They  are  too  far  from  us.  ... 

QUEEN. 

There  is  something  over  the  mirrors  this 
evening;  I  do  not  see  quite  what  it  is.  ... 

PRINCE. 

There  is  a  mist  over  the  window-panes.  .  .  . 
I  am  going  to  see  if  I  can  wipe  it  away.  .  .  . 


132         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

No,  no  !  do  not  touch  the  window  !  They 
would  wake  with  a  start !  —  It  is  on  the  inside ; 
it  is  on  the  other  side ;  it  is  the  heat  of  the 
hall.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Six  of  them  I  can  make  out  very  well ;  but 
there  is  one  in  the  middle.  .  .  . 

KING. 

They  all  look  alike  ;  I  only  distinguish  them 
by  their  necklaces  of  precious  stones.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
There  is  one  I  cannot  see  well.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
Which  do  you  like  best  ? 

PRINCE. 

The  one  you  cannot  see  well.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
Which  ?     I  am  a  little  hard  of  hearing.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

The  one  you  cannot  see  well.  .  .  . 
KING. 

Which  one  is  it  you  cannot  see  well?  I 
hardly  see  any  of  them. 


The  Seven  Princesses.        133 

PRINCE. 

The  one  in  the  middle.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
I  knew  well  you  would  see  her  only  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
Who  is  it? 

QUEEN. 

You  know  well  who  it  is ;  I  need  not  tell  you. 

PRINCE. 
It  is  Ursula? 

QUEEN. 

Why,  yes ;  why,  yes ;  why,  yes  !  You  know 
well  it  is  Ursula  !  it  is  Ursula  !  It  is  Ursula, 
who  has  waited  for  you  for  seven  years  !  all 
night  long  !  all  night  long  !  all  day  long  !  all 
day  long!  .  .  .  Do  you  recognize  her?  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  do  not  see  her  well ;  there,  is  a  shadow  over 
her.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Yes,  there  is  a  shadow  over  her;  I  do  not 
know  what  it  is.  ... 

PRINCE. 

I  think  it  is  the  shadow  of  a  column.  ...  I 
shall  see  her  better  soon,  when  the  sun  has 
wholly  set.  .  .  . 


134         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

No,  no ;  it  is  no  shadow  of  the  sun.  .  .  . 

PRIWCE. 
We  shall  see  if  the  shadow  moves  away.  .  .  . 

KING. 
I  see  what  it  is ;  it  is  the  shadow  of  the  lamp. 

QUEEN. 
She  is  lying  differently  from  the  others.  .  .  . 

KING. 
She  sleeps  more  soundly,  that  is  all.  ... 

PRINCE. 
She  sleeps  like  a  little  child.  .  .  . 

KING. 

Come  to  this  window;  you  will  see  better, 
perhaps. 

PRINCE. 

[Going  to  another  window .]  I  see  her  no 
better.  It  is  the  face  I  cannot  see.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Come  to  this  window;  you  will  see  better 
perhaps.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

[Going  to  another  window .]  I  see  her  no 
better.  ...  It  is  very  difficult  to  see  her.  .  .  . 
One  would  say  she  was  hiding.  .  .  . 


The  Seven  Princesses.        135 

QUEEN. 

The  face  is  almost  invisible.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  see  the  body  very  well,  but  I  do  not  make 
out  the  face.  ...  I  think  it  is  entirely  turned 
heavenward.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

But  you  look  only  at  one  !  .  .  . 
PRINCE. 

[Still  looking.~\  She  is  taller  than  the 
others.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

But  do  not  look  always  at  the  only  one  we 
cannot  see.  .  .  .  There  are  six  others  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  look  at  them,  too.  .  .  .  Oh,  how  clearly  one 
can  see  the  others  !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Do  you  recognize  them  ?  —  There  is  Genevieve, 
—  Helen,  —  and  Christabel  .  .  .  and  on  the 
other  side  there  is  Magdalen,  —  Clara,  —  and 
Claribel  with  the  emeralds.  .  .  .  —  Just  see; 
I  believe  they  are  holding  each  other,  all 
seven,  by  the  hand.  .  .  .  They  fell  asleep, 
taking  hold  of  hands.  .  .  .  Oh,  oh  !  the  little 
sisters  !  .  .  .  You  would  say  they  were  afraid 
of  losing  each  other  in  their  sleep.  .  .  .  My 
God,  my  God  !  I  wish  they  would  awake  !  .  .  . 


36         The  Seven  Princesses. 


PRINCE. 

Yes,  yes;  let  us  wake  them.  .  .  .  Will  you 
let  me  wake  them?  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

No,  no ;  not  yet,  not  yet.  .  .  .  Let  us  not 
look  at  them  any  more ;  come,  do  not  look  at 
them  any  more ;  they  will  suddenly  have  bad 
dreams.  ...  I  will  look  at  them  no  more ;  I 
will  look  at  them  no  more.  ...  I  might  break 
the  glass  !  .  .  .  Let  us  not  look  at  them  any 
more,  we  should  be  frightened  !  .  .  .  Come 
away,  come  away,  to  the  foot  of  the  terrace ; 
we  will  talk  of  other  things ;  we  have  so  many 
things  to  say.  .  .  .  Come  away,  come  away ; 
they  will  be  afraid  if  they  turn  over ;  they  will 
be  afraid  if  they  see  us  at  all  the  windows.  \_To 
the  old  KING.]  You  too,  you  too  ;  come  away, 
do  not  glue  your  white  beard  to  the  panes  so 
.  .  .  you  do  not  know  how  terrifying  you  are  ! 
...  —  For  the  love  of  God,  do  not  stay,  both 
of  you,  at  the  windows  !  .  .  .  Oh,  come  away ; 
come  away,  I  tell  you  !  .  .  .  You  do  not  know 
what  is  going  to  happen.  .  .  .  Come  here, 
come  here,  turn  away,  turn  away  !  Look  the 
other  way  !  Look  the  other  way  a  moment ! 
.  .  .  They  are  ill,  they  are  ill !  ...  Let  us  go 
further  away.  .  .  .  Let  them  sleep  alone  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

[  Turning.']  What  is  the  matter  ?  —  Why,  what 
is  the  matter  ?  —  Oh,  how  dark  it  is  without !  .  .  . 
Where  are  you  ?  I  cannot  find  you.  .  .  . 


The  Seven  Princesses.        137 


KING. 

Wait  a  moment ;  you  have  the  light  of  the 
hall  in  your  eyes  still.  ...  I  do  not  see  either. 
.  .  .  Come.  We  are  here.  .  .  . 

{They  leave  the  windows. 

PRINCE. 

Oh,  how  dark  it  is  in  the  fields  !  .  .  .  Where 
are  we  ? 

KING. 
The  sun  has  set.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Marcellus;  why  did  you  not  come  sooner, 
Marcellus  ? 

PRINCE. 

The  messenger  has  told  you ;  I  have  thought 
only  of  coming.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

They  have  waited  for  you  so  many  years ! 
They  have  been  always  in  this  marble  hall ; 
they  have  watched  the  canal  day  and  night.  .  .  . 
On  sunny  days  they  have  gone  on  the  other 
bank  .  .  .  there  is  a  hill  there,  from  which  you 
can  see  further;  you  cannot  see  the  sea;  but 
you  can  see  the  rocks.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
What  is  that  gleam  under  the  trees? 


138         The  Seven  Princesses. 


KING. 

It  is  the  canal  by  which  you  came ;  there  is 
always  a  gleam  on  the  water.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Oh,  how  dark  it  is  to-night !  —  I  no  longer 
know  where  I  am ;  I  am  like  a  stranger 
here.  .  .  . 

KING. 

The  sky  is  overcast  suddenly.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
There  is  a  breeze  in  the  willows.  .  .  . 

KING. 

There  is  a  breeze  day  and  night  in  the 
willows ;  we  are  not  far  from  the  sea.  — 
Listen  ;  it  rains  already.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

One  would  say  there  was  weeping  about  the 
chateau.  .  .  . 

KING. 

It  is  the  rain  falling  on  the  water;  it  is  a 
very  gentle  rain.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

One  would  say  there  was  weeping  in  the 
sky.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Oh,  how  the  water  sleeps  between  the 
walls  !  .  .  .„ 


The  Seven  Princesses.        139 

QUEEN. 

It  always  sleeps  so ;  it  is  very  old  too.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

The  swans  have  sought  shelter  under  the 
bridge.  .  .  . 

KING. 

And  here  are  peasants  bringing  home  their 
flocks.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

They  seem  to  me  very  old  and  very  poor.  .  .  . 
KING. 

They  are  very  poor;  I  am  king  of  very 
poor  people.  ...  It  is  beginning  to  grow 
cold.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

What  is  there  yonder,  across  the  water? 
KING. 

Down  there  ?  —  It  was  some  flowers  ;  the  cold 
has  killed  them.  .  .  . 

[At  this  moment,  far  off  across  the  fields 
a  monotonous  song  is  heard,  of  which  the 
refrain  only  can  be  distinguished,  taken  up 
in  chorus  at  regular  intervals.] 

FAR-AWAY   VOICES. 

The  Atlantic  !     The  Atlantic  ! 

KING. 
What  is  that  ? 


140         The  Seven  Princesses. 

PRINCE. 

It  is  the  sailors ;  —  I  think  they  are  turning 
the  ship ;  they  are  preparing  to  depart.  .  .  . 

FAR-AWAY   VOICES. 

We  shall  return  no  more  !     We  shall  return 
no  more  ! 

QUEEN. 

Already  all  its  sails  are  set.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
They  depart  to-night.  .  .  . 

FAR-AWAY    VOICES. 

The  Atlantic  !     The  Atlantic  ! 

KING. 
Is  it  true  that  they  will  return  no  more  ? 

PRINCE. 

I  do  not  know;  perhaps  it  will  not  be  the 
same  ones.  .  .  . 

FAR-AWAY   VOICES. 

We  shall  return  no  more  !     We  shall  return 
no  more  ! 

QUEEN. 

You  do  not  look  happy,  my  child. 
PRINCE. 

I  ?  —  Why  should  I  not  be  happy  ?  —  I  came 
to  see  her,  and  I  have  seen  her  ...  I  can  see 


The  Seven  Princesses.        141 

her  nearer  if  I  will  ...  I  can  sit  by  her  side 
if  I  will.  .  .  .  Can  I  not  open  the  doors  and 
take  her  hand  ?  I  may  kiss  her  when  I  will ; 
I  have  only  to  wake  her.  Why  should  I  be 
unhappy  ? 

QUEEN. 

You  do  not  look  happy,  though  !  .  .  .  I 
am  nearly  seventy-five  years  old  now  .  .  .  and  I 
have  been  waiting  for  you  always !  ...  It 
is  not  you,  not  you !  ...  It  is  no  longer 
you  !  .  .  . 

[She  turns  away  her  head  and  sobs.] 

KING. 

What  is  the  matter?  Why,  what  is  the 
matter?  Why  do  you  weep  all  at  once? 

QUEEN. 

It  is  nothing ;  it  is  nothing ;  —  it  is  not  I 
who  weep.  .  .  .  Do  not  rnind  me ;  —  one  weeps 
often  without  reason ;  —  I  am  so  old  to-day.  — 
It  is  over.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
I  shall  look  happier  soon.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Come,  come;  they  are  perhaps  there  with 
open  eyes.  .  .  .  Give  me  your  hand ;  lead  me 
to  the  windows;  let  us  go  look  in  at  the 
windows.  , 


142         The  Seven  Princesses. 

FAR-AWAY   VOICES. 

The  Atlantic  !      The  Atlantic  ! 

[They  all  return  and  look  through  the  windows.] 

PRINCE. 

I  cannot  see  yet.  ...  It  is  too  light.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
There  is  something  changed  in  the  hall !  .  .  . 

KING. 
I  see  nothing  at  all. 

PRINCE. 
It  is  brighter  than  before.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

It   is   not   the   same ;    there    is    something 
changed  in  the  hall.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
My  eyes  are  not  yet  used  to  the  light.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

They  are  no  longer  all   in  the  same  posi- 
tion !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Yes,  yes ;  I  believe  they  have  made  a  little 
movement.  , 


The  Seven  Princesses.        143 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  oh  !  Christabel  and  Claribel?  .  .  .  See, 
see  !  ...  They  were  holding  Ursula  by  the 
hand.  .  .  .  They  no  longer  hold  their  sister  by 
the  hand.  .  .  .  They  have  let  go  her  hands.  .  .  . 
They  have  turned  the  other  way.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
They  were  on  the  point  of  waking.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

We  have  come  too  late  !  We  have  come 
too  late  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

I  see  only  the  lilies  by  the  windows  :  —  they 
are  closed.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

They  know  it  is  nightfall.  .  .  . 

KING. 
And  yet  there  is  a  light  there.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
She  is  holding  one  of  her  hands  strangely.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
Who  is? 

PRINCE. 

Ursula.  .  .  . 


144         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

What  is  that  hand?  ...  I  did  not  see  it 
just  now.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
The  others  concealed  it.  ... 

KING. 

I  do  not  know  what  you  mean;  I  do  not 
even  see  the  mirrors.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

She  will  be  hurt !  .  .  .  She  will  be  hurt !  .  .  . 
She  cannot  sleep  so ;  it  is  not  natural  ...  I 
wish  she  would  put  down  her  hand  a  little.  — 
My  God,  my  God,  grant  that  she  put  down 
that  little  hand  !  ...  Her  little  arm  must  ache 
there  so  long  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  see  nothing  to  sustain  it  ... 
QUEEN. 

I  cannot  see  her  sleep  so  .  .  .  - 1  never  yet 
saw  her  sleep  so.  ...  It  is  not  a  good  sign. 
...  It  is  not  a  good  sign  !  .  .  .  She  will  never 
be  able  to  move  her  hand  again.  .  .  . 

KING. 
There  is  no  reason  to  be  so  disturbed.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
The  others  sleep  more  simply.  .  .  . 


The  Seven  Princesses.        145 

QUEEN. 

How  tight  their  eyes  are  shut !  How  tight 
their  eyes  are  shut !  .  .  .  Oh,  oh  !  the  little 
sisters  !  the  little  sisters  !  .  .  .  What  shall  we 
do  ?  —  Oh,  what  shall  we  do  about  it  ?  .  .  . 

KING. 

Take  care,  do  not  speak  so  close  to  the 
windows.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 
I  am  not  so  close  as  you  think.  .  .  . 

KING. 
Your  mouth  is  on  the  panes.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  see  something  else  —  something  very  in- 
distinct. .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

So  do  I,  so  do  I.  There  is  something  I  am 
beginning  to  see.  ...  It  stretches  out  to  the 
door.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

There  is  something  on  the  marble  slabs.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  a  shadow.  ...  It  cannot  be  a  shadow. 
...  I  cannot  be  clear  what  it  is.  ...  It 
might  be  her  hair.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

But  why  has  she  not  bound  up  her  hair?  .  .  . 
All  the  others  have  bound  up  their  hair.  .  .  . 
Look.  , 


146         The  Seven  Princesses. 

PRINCE. 

I  tell  you  it  is  her  hair  !  ...  It  stirs.  .  .  . 
Oh,  her  hair  is  beautiful !  ...  It  is  not  the 
hair  of  a  sick  woman.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

She  does  not  arrange  it  so  for  sleeping.  .  .  . 
You  would  say  she  had  intended  to  go  out. 

PRINCE. 
She  said  nothing  to  you?  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

She  said  this  noon  as  she  closed  the  door : 
"  Above  all,  do  not  wake  us."  —  Then  I  kissed 
her,  not  to  see  that  she  was  sad.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

They  will  be  cold  with  their  little  feet  almost 
naked  on  the  marble  ! 

QUEEN. 

Yes,  yes ;  they  will  be  cold  !  —  Oh,  do  not 
look  so  eagerly !  \To  the  KING.]  Nor  you 
either  !  Nor  you  either  !  —  Do  not  look  every 
moment !  Do  not  look  all  the  time  !  —  Let 
us  not  all  look  together  !  .  .  .  They  are  not 
happy  !  They  are  not  happy  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

What  is  it  now,  all  at  once  ?  —  Are  you  the 
only  one  that  may  see,  pray  ?  —  Why,  what  is 


The  Seven  Princesses.        147 

the  matter  with  you  this  evening  ?  —  You  are 
not  reasonable  any  more  ...  I  do  not  under- 
stand you  .  .  .  Everybody  else  must  look  the 
other  way;  everybody  else  must  shut  their 
eyes.  .  .  .  But  this  concerns  us  as  much  as 
you,  I  think.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  I  know  it  concerns  you.  .  .  .  Do  not 
speak  so,  for  the  love  of  God  !  .  .  .  Oh,  oh  ! 
.  .  .  Do  not  look  at  me  !  Do  not  look  at  me 
just  now  !  .  .  .  My  God,  my  God  !  how  motion- 
less they  are  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

They  will  not  wake  to-night ;  we  would  do 
better  to  go  and  sleep  too.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Let  us  wait  still ;  let  us  wait  still.  .  .  .  We 
shall  see  perhaps  what  it  is.  ... 

KING. 

We  cannot  look  forever  through  the  window- 
panes  ;  something  must  be  done.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
Perhaps  we  could  wake  them  from  here.  .  .  . 

KING. 
I  am  going  to  knock  softly  on  the  door. 


148         The  Seven  Princesses. 

QUEEN. 

No,  no  !  Never  !  Never  !  .  .  .  Oh  !  No, 
not  you,  not  you !  You  would  knock  too 
loud.  .  .  .  Take  care  !  Oh,  take  care  !  They 
are  afraid  of  everything  ...  I  will  knock  my- 
self on  the  window,  if  it  must  be.  ...  They 
must  see  who  knocks.  .  .  .  Wait,  wait.  .  .  . 

[She  knocks  very  softly  at  the  window. 

PRINCE. 

They  do  not  wake.  .  .  . 
KING. 
I  see  nothing  at  all.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

I  am  going  to  knock  a  little  louder.  .  .  . 
[She  knocks  again  at  the  window.'}  They  do 
not  stir  yet  ...  [The  QUEEN  knocks  again 
at  the  window."}  — You  would  say  the  hall 
was  full  of  cotton  ...  —  Are  you  sure  this 
is  sleep  ?  —  Perhaps  they  have  fainted  .  .  . 
I  cannot  see  them  breathe  .  .  .  [The  QUEEN 
knocks  again  at  another  window}  :  Knock  a 
little  harder  .  .  .  Knock  on  the  other  panes ! 
Oh,  oh!  these  little  panes  are  thick!  [The 
QUEEN  and  the  PRINCE  knock  anxiotisly  with 
both  hands."}  How  motionless  they  are  !  How 
motionless  they  are  !  —  It  is  the  heavy  sleep  of 
the  sick  ...  It  is  the  sleep  of  fever,  which 
will  not  go  away  ...  I  want  to  see  them 
near !  .  .  .  They  do  not  hear  the  noise  we 


The  Seven  Princesses.        149 

make.  ...  It  is  not  a  natural  sleep.  ...  It  is 
not  a  healthy  sleep  ...  I  dare  not  knock 
harder.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

[Listening  against  the  panes."]  I  do  not 
hear  the  least  noise.  .  .  . 

[A  long  silence. 
QUEEN. 

[Her  face  against  the  panes  and  in  a  sudden 
burst  of  tears.~\  Oh,  how  they  sleep  !  how 
they  sleep  !  ...  My  God,  my  God  !  deliver 
them,  deliver  them  !  —  How  their  little  hearts 
sleep  !  —  You  cannot  hear  their  little  hearts  ! 
—  It  is  a  fearful  sleep  !  —  Oh,  oh  !  how  fearful 
people  are,  asleep  !  .  .  .  I  am  always  afraid  in 
their  sleeping-room  !  ...  I  no  longer  see  their 
little  souls  !  .  .  .  Where  then  are  their  little 
souls  !  .  .  .  They  make  me  afraid  !  they  make 
me  afraid  !  —  It  is  now  that  I  see  it !  ...  How 
they  sleep,  the  little  sisters  !  Oh,  how  they 
sleep,  how  they  sleep  !  .  .  .  I  believe  they  will 
sleep  forever !  .  .  .  My  God,  my  God,  I  pity 
them  !  .  .  .  They  are  not  happy  !  they  are  not 
happy  !  .  .  .  Now  I  see  it  all !  ...  Seven  little 
souls  all  night !  .  .  .  Seven  little  helpless  souls  ! 
.  .  .  Seven  little  friendless  souls  !  .  .  .  Their 
mouths  are  wide  open.  .  .  .  Seven  little  open 
mouths  !  .  .  .  Oh,  I  am  sure  they  are  thirsty  I 
...  I  am  sure  they  are  terribly  thirsty  !  .  .  . 
And  all  their  eyes  shut !  .  .  .  Oh,  how  alone 


150        The  Seven  Princesses. 

they  are  ;  all  seven  !  all  seven  !  all  seven  !  .  . 
And  how  they  sleep  !  How  they  sleep  !  —. 
How  they  sleep,  the  little  queens  !  .  .  .  I  am 
sure  they  do  not  sleep  !  .  .  .  Oh,  what  a  sleep  ! 
what  a  deep  sleep  !  .  .  .  Oh,  wake  the  dear 
hearts  !  Wake  the  little  queens  !  .  .  .  Wake 
the  little  sisters  !  All  the  seven  !  all  the  seven  ! 
...  I  cannot  bear  to  see  them  so  any  longer ! 
My  God,  my  God,  I  pity  them  !  I  pity  them  ! 
And  I  dare  not  wake  them  !  .  .  .  Oh,  the  light 
is  so  faint !  ...  so  faint !  ...  so  faint  .  .  . 
And  I  dare  not  wake  them  !  .  .  .  [She  sobs 
desperately  against  the  window.] 

KING. 

What  is  the  matter?  —  What  is  the  matter 
now  ?  —  Come,  come,  look  no  longer ;  it  is 
better  not  to  see  them.  .  .  .  Come,  come, 
come.  \_ffe  tries  to  take  her  away. 

PRINCE. 

Grandmother !  grandmother !  .  .  .  What 
have  you  seen  ?  what  have  you  seen  ?  —  I 
have  seen  nothing.  .  .  .  There  is  nothing, 
there  is  nothing.  .  .  . 

KING. 

\To  the  PRINCE.]  It  is  nothing,  it  is  noth- 
ing ;  do  not  mind  her ;  it  is  old  age,  it  is  the 
night.  .  .  .  She  is  unnerved.  —  Women  must 
weep.  She  weeps  often  in  the  night.  \To  the 
QUEEN.]  Come,  come,  come  here.  .  .  .  You 


The  Seven  Princesses.        151 

will  fall !  —  Take  care.  .  .  .  Lean  on  me.  .  .  . 
Do  not  weep  any  more ;  do  not  weep  any 
more,  come.  .  .  .  \He  kisses  her  tenderly^\ 
It  is  nothing;  they  are  sleeping.  .  .  .  We 
sleep,  too.  .  .  .  We  all  sleep  so.  ...  Have 
you  never  seen  any  one  sleep? 

QUEEN. 

Never  !  Never  as  to-night !  —  Open  the 
door !  Open  the  door !  .  .  .  No  one  loves 
them  enough  !  .  .  .  No  one  can  love  them  ! 
—  Open  the  door !  Open  the  door !  .  .  . 

KING. 

Yes;  yes;  we  will  open  the  door.  ...  Be 
calm,  be  calm,  —  think  no  more  of  it ;  we  will 
open  it,  we  will  open  it.  I  ask  nothing  better ; 
I  told  you  to  open  it,  just  now,  and  you  would 
not.  .  .  .  Now,  now,  do  not  weep  any  more. 
...  Be  reasonable.  ...  I  am  old  too,  but  I 
am  reasonable.  Now,  now,  do  not  weep  any 
more.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

There,  there ;  it  is  over ;  I  will  weep  no  more, 
I  will  weep  no  more.  .  .  .  They  must  not  hear 
me  weeping  when  they  wake.  .  .  . 

KING. 

Come,  come,  I  shall  open  the  door  very  softly  ; 
we  will  go  in  together.  .  .  .  \He  tries  to  open 
the  door ;  the  lock  grates,  and,  inside  the  hall, 
the  latch  can  be  seen  to  lift  and  fall  back  again.'] 


152         The  Seven  Princesses. 

Oh,  oh !  what  is  the  matter  with  the  lock,  I 
wonder  ?  —  I  cannot  open  the  door  .  .  .  push 
a  little.  ...  1  do  not  know  what  it  can  be. 
...  I  did  not  know  it  was  so  hard  to  get  into 
this  hall.  .  .  .  Will  you  try?  [7%<?  QUEEN  tries 
in  her  turn,  without  success.]  It  does  not 
open.  ...  I  believe  they  have  drawn  the 
bolts.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes;  the  door  is  locked;  it 
will  not  open.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

They  always  lock  it.  ...  Oh,  oh  !  do  not 
abandon  them  so  !  .  .  .  They  have  slept  so 
long ! 

PRINCE. 

We  might  open  a  window.  .  .  . 

KING. 
The  windows  do  not  open. 

PRINCE. 
It  seems  to  me  it  is  not  so  light  in  the  hall.  .  .  . 

KING. 

It  is  just  as  light  there ;  but  the  sky  is  clearing. 
—  Do  you  see  the  stars  ? 

PRINCE. 
What  shall  we  do? 

KING. 

I  do  not  know.  .  .  .  — There  is  another 
entrance.  , 


The  Seven  Princesses.        153 

PRINCE. 

There  is  another  entrance  ? 

QUEEN. 

No  !  no  !  I  know  what  you  mean !  .  .  . 
Not  that  way  !  not  that  way  !  I  will  not  go 
down  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

We  will  not  go  down ;  we  will  stay  here ; 
Marcellus  will  go  alone.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  no,  no,  no !  ...  Let  us  wait.  .  .  . 

KING. 

But,  after  all,  what  will  you  have  us  do?  — 
There  is  no  other  way  to  get  into  the  hall  .  .  . 
that  is  as  clear  as  possible.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
There  is  another  entrance? 

KING. 

Yes ;  there  is  still  a  little  entrance  .  .  .  you 
cannot  see  it  from  here  .  .  .  but  you  will  easily 
find  it.  You  must  go  down  underneath-  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
Where  must  I  go  down? 


154        The  Seven  Princesses. 

KING. 

Come  here.  \_He  draws  him  a  little  aside.~\ 
It  is  not  a  door  .  .  .  you  could  not  call  it  a 
door  ...  it  is  a  trap,  rather  ...  it  is  a 
movable  slab  in  the  floor.  It  is  quite  at  the 
back  of  the  hall.  .  .  .  You  must  go  through 
the  vaults  .  .  .  you  understand.  .  .  .  Then 
come  up  again.  .  .  .  You  will  need  a  lamp  .  .  . 
you  might  lose  yourself  .  .  .  you  might  dash 
yourself  against  the  .  .  .  the  marble  ...  do 
you  understand  ?  .  .  .  Take  care ;  there  are 
chains  between  the  .  .  .  the  little  passages. 
.  .  .  But  you  should  know  the  way.  .  .  .  You 
went  down  there  more  than  once  formerly.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
I  went  down  there  more  than  once  formerly? 

KING. 
Why,  yes ;  why,  yes  ;  where  your  mother  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Where  my  mother  .  .  .  ?  —  Ah,  is  it  there  I 
must  go?  ... 

KING. 

[Makes  a  sign  with  his  head."}  It  is  there.  — . 
And  where  your  father  also  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Yes,  yes ;  I  remember  .  .  .  and  where  others 
also  . 


The  Seven   Princesses.        155 

KING. 

You  understand !  .  .  .  The  stone  is  not 
cemented  :  you  have  only  to  push  a  little.  .  .  . 
But  be  careful.  .  .  .  There  are  some  slabs  that 
are  not  regular.  ...  Be  on  your  guard  for  a 
bust  that  bends  its  head  a  little  across  the  path 
...  it  is  marble.  .  .  .  There  is  a  cross,  too, 
with  arms  a  little  long  ...  be  on  your  guard 
...  do  not  hurry ;  you  have  plenty  of  time.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
And  it  is  there  I  must  go?  ... 

KING. 

It  is  there !  .  .  .  He  must  have  a  lamp. 
\_He  goes  to  the  edge  of  the  terrace  and  rails.] 
A  lamp  !  a  lamp  !  a  little  lamp  !  .  .  .  [  To  the 
PRINCE.]  We  will  wait  here  at  the  windows. 
.  .  .  We  are  too  old  to  go  down  there.  .  .  . 
We  could  not  climb  up  again.  .  .  .  \_A  lighted 
la.mp  is  brought^  Ah,  ah,  here  is  the  lamp; 
the  little  lamp.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

Yes,  yes ;  the  little  lamp.  .   .  . 

[At  this  moment  great  cries  of  joy  from  the 
sailors  are  heard  suddenly  without.  The 
masts,  yards,  and  sails  of  the  ship  are 
illuminated,  in  the  midst  of  the  darkness, 
on  the  horizon  of  the  canal,  among  the 
willows.] 

KING.     « 

Oh,  oh,  what  is  that  ? 


156         The  Seven   Princesses. 

PRINCE. 

It  is  the  sailors.  .  .  .  They  are  dancing  on 
the  bridge ;  they  are  tipsy.  .  .  . 

KING. 
They  have  lighted  up  the  ship.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

It  is  the  joy  of  departure.  .  .  .  They  are 
just  leaving.  .  .  . 

KING. 
Well,  will  you  go  down  ?  ...  It  is  this  way. 

QUEEN. 

No,  no,  do  not  go  there  !  .  .  .  Do  not  go 
that  way !  ...  do  not  wake  them !  do  not 
tvake  them  !  .  .  .  You  know  they  must  have 
rest !  .  .  .  I  am  afraid  !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 

I  will  not  wake  the  others,  if  you  wish.  .  .  . 
[  will  wake  one  only.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Oh  !  oh  !  oh  ! 

KING. 

Make  no  noise  as  you  enter.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
I  am  afraid  they  will  not  recognize  me.  .  . 


The  Seven  Princesses.        157 

KING. 

There  is  no  danger.  .  .  .  Eh,  eh  !  take  care 
of  the  little  lamp  !  .  .  .  Don't  you  see  there  is 
a  wind  ?  .  .  .  the  wind  will  blow  it  out !  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
I  fear  they  will  not  all  wake  at  once. 

KING. 

What  does  that  matter?  ...  Do  not  wake 
them  roughly,  that  is  all. 

PRINCE. 

I  shall  be  all  alone  before  them.  ...  I  shall 
look  as  if  .  .  .  they  will  be  afraid.  .  .  . 

KING. 

You  will  only  wake  them  after  putting  the 
stone  back  in  its  place.  .  .  .  They  will  not 
notice  anything.  .  .  .  They  do  not  know  what 
there  is  under  the  hall  where  they  sleep.  .  .  . 

PRINCE. 
They  will  take  me  for  a  stranger.  .  .  . 

KING. 

We  will  be  at  the  windows.  —  Go  down ;  go 
down.  —  Take  care  of  the  lamp.  —  Above  all, 
do  not  lose  yourself  in  the  vaults ;  they  are  of 


158         The  Seven   Princesses. 

a  great  depth.  ...  Be  careful  to  put  the  slab 
back.  .  .  .  Come  up  as  soon  as  possible.  .  .  . 
We  will  wait  at  the  windows.  .  .  .  Go  down, 
go  down  ;  —  careful !  careful !  .  .  . 

[The  Prince  leaves  the  terrace ;  the  old  King 
and  the  old  Queen  look  through  the  win- 
dows, with  their  faces  against  the  panes.  — 
A  long  silence.] 

FAR-AWAY  VOICES. 

The  Atlantic  !     The  Atlantic  ! 

KING. 

[Turning  his  head  and  looking  toward  the 
canal.~\  Ah,  ah  !  they  are  going.  .  .  .  They 
will  have  a  fair  wind  to-night.  .  .  . 

FAR-AWAY    VOICES. 

We  shall  return  no  more  !  We  shall  return 
no  more  ! 

KING. 

[Looking  toward  the  canal.~\  They  will  be 
on  the  open  sea  before  midnight.  .  .  . 

VOICES. 

[Farther  and  farther  away.~\  The  Atlantic  1 
The  Atlantic  ! 

KING. 

[Looking  into  the  hall.~\  If  only  he  does  not 
lose  himself  in  the  darkness.  . 


The  Seven  Princesses.        159 

VOICES. 

[Almost  inaudible^  We  shall  return  no 
more  !  We  shall  return  no  more  ! 

[A  silence ;   the  ship  disappears  among   the 
willows.] 

KING. 

[Looking  toward  the  canal."]  You  cannot 
see  them  any  longer.  —  [Looking  into  the  hall.~\ 
He  has  not  come  yet  ?  —  [Looking  toward  the 
canal.~\  —  The  ship  is  no  longer  there  !  —  [To 
the  QUEEN.]  —  You  pay  no  attention?  —  You 
do  not  answer  ?  —  Where  are  you  ?  Look  at 
the  canal.  —  They  have  gone ;  they  will  be  on 
the  open  sea  before  midnight.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

[Distractedly. .]     They  will  be  on  the  open 
sea  before  midnight.  .  .  . 
KING. 

[Looking  into  the  hall.~]  Can  you  see  the 
slab  he  should  lift  ?  —  It  is  covered  with  in- 
scriptions ;  —  it  must  be  hidden  by  the  laurels. 
—  He  has  grown  tall,  Marcellus,  has  he  not?  — 
We  would  have  done  better  to  wake  them 
before  he  landed.  —  I  told  you  so.  —  We  should 
have  avoided  all  these  scenes.  —  I  do  not  know 
why  he  did  not  look  happy  this  evening.  — 
They  were  wrong  to  draw  the  bolts ;  I  will 
have  them  taken  off.  —  If  only  his  lamp  does 
not  go  out !  —  Where  are  you  ?  —  Do  you  see 
anything?  —  Why  do  you  not  answer?  —  If  only 
he  does  not  lose  himself  in  the  darkness  !  — 
Are  you  listening  to  me  ? 


160         The  Seven  Princesses. 


QUEEN. 

If  only  he  does  not  lose  himself  in  the 
darkness  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

You  are  right.  —  Do  you  not  find  it  is  begin- 
ning to  grow  cold  ?  —  They  will  be  cold  on  the 
marble.  —  It  seems  to  me  he  is  taking  his 
time.  —  If  only  his  little  lamp  does  not  go  out ! 
—  Why  do  you  not  answer?  What  are  you 
dreaming  about? 

QUEEN. 

If  only  his  little  lamp  .  .  .  !  The  stone  ! 
the  stone  !  the  stone  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

Is  he  there  ?  —  Is  he  coming  in  ?  —  I  cannot 
see  that  far.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

It  rises  !  it  rises  !  .  .  .  There  is  a  light !  .  .  . 
look  .  .  .  listen  !  listen !  —  It  creaks  on  its 
hinges  !  .  .  . 

KING. 
I  told  him  to  go  in  very  softly.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

Oh,  he  is  coming  in  very  softly.  .  .  .  See, 
see,  he  is  putting  his  hand  through  with  the 
lamp.  .  .  . 


The  Seven   Princesses.         161 

KING. 

Yes,  yes ;  I  see  the  little  lamp.  .  .  .  Why 
does  he  not  enter  at  once  ?  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

He  cannot.  .  .  .  He  is  lifting  the  stone  very 
slowly.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes ;  very  slowly  .  .  .  Oh, 
how  it  creaks  !  how  it  creaks  !  how  it  creaks ! 
.  .  .  They  will  wake  with  a  start ! 

KING. 

I  cannot  see  very  well  what  is  going  on  ... 
I  know  the  stone  is  very  heavy.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

He  enters  .  .  .  He  comes  up  ...  He  comes 
up  more  and  more  slowly  .  .  .  Oh,  but  the 
stone  cries  now !  .  .  .  oh,  oh  !  it  cries  !  it 
cries  !  It  wails  like  a  child  !  .<  .  .  He  is  half 
in  the  hall !  .  .  .  Three  steps  more  !  three 
steps  more  !  [  Clapping  her  hands,~\  He  is 
in  the  hall !  He  is  in  the  hall !  .  .  .  Look  ! 
look  !  .  .  .  They  wake  !  .  .  .  They  all  wake 
with  a  start  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

Has  he  let  the  slab  fall  ? 

[The  Prince,  letting  go  the  sepulchral  slab  he 
has  just  lifted,  stops,  lamp  in  hand,  at  the 
foot  of  the  marble  steps.  Six  of  the  prin- 
cesses, at  the  last  grating  of  the  hinges, 
open  their  eyes,  stir  a  moment  on  the  edge 
of  sleep,  and  then  rise  simultaneously  at 


162         The  Seven  Princesses. 

his  approach,  their  arms  raised  in  slow 
attitudes  of  waking.  One  only,  Ursula, 
remains  stretched  on  her  back  on  the  mar- 
ble steps,  motionless,  in  the  midst  of  her 
sisters,  who  exchange  with  the  Prince  a 
long  look  full  of  marvellings,  bewilderments 
and  silences.] 

QUEEN. 

[At  the  windows^]  Ursula  !  Ursula  !  Ursula ! 
.  .  .  She  does  not  wake  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

Patience  !  patience  !  —  She  sleeps  a  little 
heavily.  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

[Crying  out,  her  face  against  the  windows. ~\ 
Ursula  !  Ursula  !  —  Wake  her  !  [Knocking  on 
the  windows^]  Marcellus  !  Marcellus  !  — 
Wake  her  !  Wake  her  too  !  Ursula  !  Ursula  ! 
.  .  .  Marcellus  !  Marcellus  !  .  .  .  She  has  not 
heard  !  .  .  .  Ursula  !  Ursula  !  Arise  !  He 
is  there  !  He  is  there  !  ...  It  is  time  !  It 
is  time  !  —  [Knocking  at  another  window."] 
Marcellus  !  Marcellus  !  Look  before  you  ! 
look !  She  is  sleeping  still !  .  .  .  [Knocking 
at  another  window .]  —  Oh,  oh  !  —  Christabel ! 
Christabel!  Claribel !  Claribel !  .  .  .  Clara! 
Clara !  Oh,  Clara  !  ...  She  has  not  heard  ! 
.  .  .  [Knocking  constantly  and  violently  on  the 
windows.']  Ursula !  Ursula !  He  has  come 
back  !  He  is  there  !  He  is  there  !  ...  It  is 
time  !  It  is  time  !  . 


The  Seven   Princesses.        163 

KING. 

\Also  knocking  at  the  windows^  Yes  ;  yes ; 
wake  her !  .  .  .  Oh,  wake  her !  .  .  .  We  are 
waiting.  .  .  . 

[The  Prince,  unheeding  the  noises  outside, 
approaches  in  silence  the  one  who  has  not 
risen,  lie  gazes  upon  her  a  moment,  hesi- 
tates, bends  his  knee  and  touches  one  of 
the  arms  lying  bare  and  inert  on  the  silken 
cushions.  At  the  contact  of  the  flesh  he 
rises  suddenly,  with  a  long  and  sweeping 
look  of  terror  at  the  six  princesses,  who 
remain  mute  and  are  extremely  pale.  They, 
at  first  undecided  and  trembling  with  the 
desire  to  flee,  stoop  finally  with  a  unani- 
mous movement  over  their  prostrate  sister, 
lift  her,  and,  in  the  deepest  silence,  bear  the 
body,  already  rigid,  with  head  dishevelled 
and  stiff,  to  the  highest  of  the  seven  mar- 
ble steps ;  while  the  Queen,  the  King,  and 
the  people  of  the  chateau,  who  have  hurried 
to  the  scene,  knock  and  cry  out  violently 
at  all  the  windows  of  the  hall :  these  two 
scenes  take  place  simultaneously.] 

QUEEN. 

She  is  not  asleep  !  She  is  not  asleep  !  —  It 
is  not  sleep  !  It  is  not  sleep  !  It  is  no  longer 
sleep  !  [She  runs  desperately  from  window  to 
window ;  she  knocks  at  them,  she  shakes  the 
iron  bars  ;  she  stamps  and  her  white  unknotted 
hair  is  seen  quivering  against  the  panes. ,]  She 
is  no  longer  sleeping,  I  tell  you  !  \To  the 
KING.]  Oh !  oh !  oh !  you  are  a  man  of 
stone  !  .  .  .  Cry  out !  cry  out !  cry  out !  For 
God's  sake !  cry  out,  I  tell  you !  I  scream 


164         The  Seven  Princesses. 

myself  to  death  and  he  does  not  understand  ! 
—  Run  !  run !  cry !  cry  !  He  has  seen 
nothing  !  nothing  !  nothing  !  nothing  !  never  ! 
never !  never !  .  .  . 

KING. 

What?  what?  What  is  it?  What  is  it? 
Where  must  I  cry  out? 

QUEEN. 

Down  there  !  down  there  !  Everywhere  ! 
everywhere  !  on  the  terrace  !  over  the  water  ! 
over  the  meadows  !  .  .  .  Cry  !  cry  !  cry  !  .  .  . 

KING. 

[  On  the  edge  of  the  terrace,~]  Oh !  .  .  . 
oh  !  ...  Hurry  !  hurry  !  here  !  here  !  .  .  . 
Ursula  !  Ursula  !  .  .  .  There  is  something  the 
matter  !  .  .  . 

QUEEN. 

\At  the  windows.']  Ursula  !  Ursula  !  .  .  . 
Pour  some  water  on  her !  .  .  .  — Yes,  yes,  do 
that,  my  child  ...  It  is  perhaps  not  .  .  .  !  Oh, 
oh,  oh  !  ...  her  little  head  !  .  .  .  \Servitors, 
soldiers,  peasants,  women,  run  up  on  the  terrace 
with  torches  and  lanterns."]  Ursula  !  Ursula  ! 
....  It  is  perhaps  not  that  ...  It  may  be 
nothing  at  all !  ...  Eh  !  eh  !  Claribel !  Clai- 
ibel !  Take  care  !  ...  She  will  fall !  ...  Do 
not  tread  on  her  hair  !  .  .  .  Open  !  open  !  —  She 
will  wake  !  she  will  wake  !  .  .  .  water  !  water  ! 
water  !  —  Open  !  open  !  the  door  !  the  door  ! 


The  Seven  Princesses.         165 

the  door !  .  .  .  No  one  can  get  in  !  Every- 
thing is  locked  !  everything  is  locked  !  .  .  . 
You  are  deaf  as  dead  folk  \  ...  [To  those  about 
her.~\  Help  me  !  —  You  are  horrible  people  ! 
My  hands  !  .  .  .  My  hands  !  .  .  .  You  see  my 
hands?  .  .  .  Help  me!  help  me!  Oh,  oh! 
It  is  late !  ...  It  is  too  late  ?  ...  It  is  too 
late  !  .  .  .  closed  !  closed  !  closed !  .  .  . 

ALL. 

[Shaking  the  door  and  knocking  at  all  the  win- 
dows^    Open !   open  !  open  !  open  !  .  .  . 

[A  black  curtain  falls  brusquely.] 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

To  A.  F.  Lugnt-Poe. 


Persons. 

TlNTAGILES. 

YGRAINE,  ) 

>  sisters  of  Tintagiles. 
BELLANGERE,      V 

AGLOVALE. 

THREE  SERVANTS  OF  THE  QUEEN. 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

ACT   FIRST. 

At  the  top  of  a  hill,  overlooking  the  castle. 
Enter  YGRAINE,  holding  TINTAGILES  by  the  hand. 

YGRAINE. 

Thy  first  night  will  be  troubled,  Tintagiles. 
Already  the  sea  howls  about  us ;  and  the  trees 
are  moaning.  It  is  late.  The  moon  is  just 
setting  behind  the  poplars  that  stifle  the  palace. 
.  .  .  We  are  alone,  perhaps,  for  all  that  here 
we  have  to  live  on  guard.  There  seems  to  be 
a  watch  set  for  the  approach  of  the  slightest 
happiness.  I  said  to  myself  one  day,  in  the 
very  depths  of  my  soul,  —  and  God  himself  could 
hardly  hear  it,  —  I  said  to  myself  one  day  I 
should  be  happy.  .  .  .  There  needed  nothing 
further ;  in  a  little  while  our  old  father  died, 
and  both  our  brothers  vanished  without  a  single 
human  being  able  since  to  tell  us  where  they 
are.  Now  I  am  all  alone,  with  my  poor  sister 
and  thee,  my  little  Tintagiles ;  and  I  have  no 


172  .    The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

faith  in  the  future.  .  .  .  Come  here ;  sit  on  my 
knee.  Kiss  me  first ;  and  put  thy  little  arms, 
there,  all  the  way  around  my  neck ;  .  .  .  per- 
haps they  will  not  be  able  to  undo  them.  .  .  . 
Rememberest  thou  the  time  when  it  was  I  that 
carried  thee  at  night  when  bedtime  came  :  and 
when  thou  fearedst  the  shadows  of  my  lamp  in 
the  long  windowless  corridors  ?  —  I  felt  my  soul 
tremble  upon  my  lips  when  I  saw  thee,  sud- 
denly, this  morning.  ...  I  thought  thee  so  far 
away,  and  so  secure.  .  .  .  Who  was  it  made 
thee  come  here? 

TINTAGILES. 

I  do  not  know,  little  sister. 

YGRATNE. 

Thou  dost  not  know  any  longer  what  was 
said? 

TINTAGILES, 

They  said  I  had  to  leave. 

YGRAINE. 

But  why  hadst  thou  to  leave  ? 

TINTAGILES. 

Because  it  was  the  Queen's  will. 

YGRAINE. 

They  did  not  say  why  it  was  her  mil?  —  I  am 
sure  they  said  many  things.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       1 73 

TINTAGILES. 

I  heard  nothing,  little  sister. 

YGRAINE. 

When   they  spoke  among  themselves,  what 
did  they  say? 

TINTAGILES. 

They  spoke  in  a  low  voice,  little  sister. 

YGRAINE. 

All  the  time  ? 

TINTAGILES. 

All  the  time,  sister   Ygraine;    except  when 
they  looked  at  me. 

YGRAINE. 

They  did  not  speak  of  the  Queen  ? 

TINTAGILES. 

They  said  she  was  never  seen,  sister  Ygraine. 

YGRAINE. 

And  those  who  were  with  thee,  on  the  bridge 
of  the  ship,  said  nothing? 

TINTAGILES. 

They  minded  nothing  but  the  wind  and  the 
sails,  sister  Ygraine. 

YGRAINE. 

Ah !  ...  That  does  not  astonish  me,  my 
child.  .  .  , 


174       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

TINTAGILES. 

They  left  me  all  alone,  little  sister. 

YGRAINE. 

Listen,  Tintagiles,  I  will  tell  thee  what  I 
know.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

What  dast  thou  know,  sister  Ygraine  ? 

YGRAINE. 

Not  much,  my  child.  .  .  .  My  sister  and  I 
have  crept  along  here,  since  our  birth,  without 
daring  to  understand  a  whit  of  all  that  happens. 
.  .  .  For  a  long  while  indeed,  I  lived  like  a 
blind  woman  on  this  island ;  and  it  all  seemed 
natural  to  me.  ...  I  saw  no  other  events  than 
the  flying  of  a  bird,  the  trembling  of  a  leaf,  the 
opening  of  a  rose.  .  .  .  There  reigned  such  a 
silence  that  the  falling  of  a  ripe  fruit  in  the 
park  called  faces  to  the  windows.  .  .  .  And  no 
one  seemed  to  have  the  least  suspicion;  .  .  . 
but  one  night  I  learned  there  must  be  some- 
thing else.  ...  I  would  have  fled,  and  could 
not.  .  .  .  Hast  thou  understood  what  I  have 
said? 

TINTAGILES. 

Yes,  yes,  little  sister ;  I  understand  whatever 
you  will.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Well,  then,  let  us  speak  no  more  of  things 
that  are  not  known.  .  .  .  Thou  seest  yonder, 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       1 75 

behind  the  dead  trees  that  poison  the  horizon, 
—  thou  seest  the  castle  yonder,  in  the  depth 
of  the  valley  ? 

TINTAGILES. 

That  which  is  so  black,  sister  Ygraine  ? 

YGRA1NE. 

It  is  black  indeed.  ...  It  is  at  the  very 
depth  of  an  amphitheatre  of  shadows.  .  .  .  We 
have  to  live  there.  ...  It  might  have  been 
built  on  the  summit  of  the  great  mountains  that 
surround  it.  ...  The  mountains  are  blue  all 
day.  .  .  .  We  should  have  breathed.  We 
should  have  seen  the  sea  and  the  meadows  on 
the  other  side  of  the  rocks.  .  .  .  But  they  pre- 
ferred to  put  it  in  the  depth  of  the  valley ;  and 
the  very  air  does  not  go  down  so  low.  ...  It 
is  falling  in  ruins,  and  nobody  bewares.  .  .  . 
The  walls  are  cracking ;  you  would  say  it  was 
dissolving  in  the  shadows.  .  .  .  There  is  only 
one  tower  unassailed  by  the  weather.  ...  It  is 
enormous ;  and  the  house  never  comes  out  of 
its  shadow.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

There  is  something  shining,  sister  Ygraine. 
.  .  .  See,  see,  the  great  red  windows  i  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

They  are  those  of  the  tower,  Tintagiles :  they 
are  the  only  ones  where  you  will  see  light ;  it 
is  there  the  throne  of  the  Queen  is  set. 


176      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

TINTAGILES. 

I  shall  not  see  the  Queen? 

YGRAINE.         / 

No  one  can  see  her.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Why  can't  one  see  her  ? 

YGRAINE. 

Come  nearer,  Tintagiles.  .  .  .  Not  a  bird 
nor  a  blade  of  grass  must  hear  us.  ... 

TINTAGILES. 

There  is  no  grass,  little  sister.  .  .  .  [A  silence.] 
—  What  does  the  Queen  do? 

YGRAINE. 

No  one  knows,  my  child.  She  does  not 
show  herself.  .  .  .  She  lives  there,  all  alone  in 
her  tower;  and  they  that  serve  her  do  not  go 
out  by  day.  .  .  .  She  is  very  old ;  she  is  the 
mother  of  our  mother;  and  she  would  reign 
alone.  .  .  .  She  is  jealous  and  suspicious,  and 
they  say  that  she  is  mad.  .  .  .  She  fears  lest 
some  one  rise  into  her  place  ;  and  it  was  doubt- 
less because  of  that  fear  that  she  had  thee 
brought  hither.  .  .  .  Her  orders  are  carried 
out  no  one  knows  how.  .  .  .  She  never  comes 
down ;  and  all  the  doors  of  the  tower  are 
closed  night  and  day.  ...  I  never  caught  a 
glimpse  of  her ;  but  others  have  seen  her,  it 
seems,  in  the  past,  when  she  was  young.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       177 

TINTAGILES. 

Is  she  very  ugly,  sister  Ygraine  ? 

YGRAINE. 

They  say  she  is  not  beautiful,  and  that  she  is 
growing  huge.  .  .  .  But  they  that  have  seen 
her  dare  never  speak  of  it.  ...  Who  knows, 
indeed,  if  they  have  seen  her?  .  .  .  She  has  a 
power  not  to  be  understood  ;  and  we  live  here 
with  a  great  unpitying  weight  upon  our  souls. 
.  .  .  Thou  must  not  be  frightened  beyond 
measure,  nor  have  bad  dreams ;  we  shall  watch 
over  thee,  my  little  Tintagiles,  and  no  evil  will 
be  able  to  reach  thee  ;  but  do  not  go  far  from 
me,  your  sister  Bellangere,  nor  our  old  master 
Aglovale.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Not  from  Aglovale  either,  sister  Ygraine  ? 

YGRAINE. 

Not  from  Aglovale  either.  .  .  .  He  loves 
us.  ... 

TINTAGILES. 

He  is  so  old,  little  sister ! 

YGRAINE. 

He  is  old,  but  very  wise.  .  .  .  He  is  the  only 
friend  we  have  left ;  and  he  knows  many  things. 
...  It  is  strange  ;  she  has  made  thee  come 
hither  without  letting  any  one  know.  ...  I  do 
not  know  what  there  is  in  my  heart.  ...  I  was 


1 78       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

sorry  and  glad  to  know  thou  wert  so  far  away, 
beyond  the  sea.  .  .  .  And  now  ...  I  was 
astonished.  ...  I  went  out  this  morning  to  see 
if  the  sun  was  rising  over  the  mountains  ;  and  it 
is  thou  I  see  upon  the  threshold.  ...  I  knew 
thee  at  once.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

No,  no,  little  sister;  it  was  I  that  laughed 
first.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  could  not  laugh  at  once.  .  .  .  Thou  wilt 
understand.  ...  It  is  time,  Tintagiles,  and  the 
wind  is  growing  black  upon  the  sea.  .  .  .  Kiss 
me  harder,  again,  again,  before  thou  stand'st 
upright.  .  .  .  Thou  knowest  not  how  we  love. 
.  .  .  Give  me  thy  little  hand.  ...  I  shall 
guard  it  well ;  and  we  will  go  back  into  the 
sickening  castle. 

[Exeunt. 


ACT  SECOND. 

An  apartment  in  the  castle.     AGLOVALE  and 

YGRAINE  discovered. 

Enter  BELLANGERE. 

BELLANGERE. 

Where  is  Tintagiles? 

YGRAINE. 

Here ;  do  not  speak  too  loud.  He  sleeps  in 
the  other  room.  He  seems  a  little  pale,  a  little 
ailing  too.  He  was  tired  by  the  journey  and 
the  long  sea-voyage.  Or  else  the  atmosphere 
of  the  castle  has  startled  his  little  soul.  He 
cried  for  no  cause.  I  rocked  him  to  sleep  on 
my  knees;  come,  see.  .  .  .  He  sleeps  in  our 
bed.  .  .  .  He  sleeps  very  gravely,  with  one 
hand  on  his  forehead,  like  a  little  sad  king.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE  (bursting  suddenly  into  tears). 
My  sister !  my  sister !  ...  my  poor  sister  I . .  • 

YGRAINE. 

What  is  the  matter? 


180      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

BELLANGERE. 

I  dare  not  say  what  I  know,  .  .  .  and  I  am 
not  sure  that  I  know  anything,  .  .  .  and  yet  I 
heard  that  which  one  could  not  hear.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

What  didst  thou  hear? 

BELLANGERE. 

I  was  passing  near  the  corridors  of  the 
tower.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Ah !  ... 

BELLANGERE. 

A  door  there  was  ajar.  I  pushed  it  very 
softly.  ...  I  went  in.  ... 

YGRAINE. 

In  where  ? 

BELLANGERE. 

I  had  never  seen  the  place.  .  .  .  There  were 
other  corridors  lighted  with  lamps;  then  low 
galleries  that  had  no  outlet.  ...  I  knew  it  was 
forbidden  to  go  on.  ...  I  was  afraid,  and  I 
was  going  to  return  upon  my  steps,  when  I 
heard  a  sound  of  voices  one  could  hardly 
hear.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

It  must  have  been  the  handmaids  of  the 
Queen ;  they  dwell  at  the  foot  of  the  tower.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      181 

BELLANGERE. 

I  do  not  know  just  what  it  was.  .  .  .  There 
must  have  been  more  than  one  door  between 
us ;  and  the  voices  came  to  me  like  the  voice 
of  some  one  who  was  being  smothered.  ...  I 
drew  as  near  as  I  could.  ...  I  am  not  sure  of 
anything,  but  I  think  they  spoke  of  a  child  that 
came  to-day  and  of  a  crown  of  gold.  .  .  .  They 
seemed  to  be  laughing.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

They  laughed  ? 

BELLANGERE. 

Yes,  I  think  they  laughed  .  .  .  unless  they 
were  weeping,  or  unless  it  was  something  I  did 
not  understand  ;  for  it  was  hard  to  hear,  and  their 
voices  were  sweet.  .  .  .  They  seemed  to  echo 
in  a  crowd  under  the  arches.  .  .  .  They  spoke 
of  the  child  the  Queen  would  see.  .  .  .  They 
will  probably  come  up  this  evening.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

What?  .  .  .  This  evening?  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

Yes.  .  .  .  Yes.  .  .  .  I  think  so.  ... 

YGRAINE. 

They  spoke  no  one's  name  ? 

BELLANGERE. 

They  spoke  of  a  child,  of  a  very  little 
child.  , 


1 82       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

YGRAINE. 

There  is  no  other  child.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

They  raised  their  voices  a  little  at  that 
moment,  because  one  of  them  had  said  the  day 
seemed  not  yet  come.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  know  what  that  means ;  it  is  not  the  first 
time  they  have  issued  from  the  tower.  ...  I 
knew  well  why  she  made  him  come ;  .  .  .  but  I 
could  not  believe  she  would  hasten  so !  ... 
We  shall  see ;  ...  we  are  three,  and  we  have 
time.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

What  wilt  thou  do? 

YGRAINE. 

I  do  not  know  yet  what  I  shall  do,  but  I 
will  astonish  her.  .  .  .  Do  you  know  how  you 
tremble?  ...  I  will  tell  you.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

What? 

YGRAINE. 

She  shall  not  take  him  without  trouble.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

We  are  alone,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      183 


YGRAINE. 

Ah !  it  is  true,  we  are  alone !  .  .  .  There  is 
but  one  remedy,  the  one  with  which  we  have 
always  succeeded  !  .  .  .  Let  us  wait  upon  our 
knees  as  the  other  times.  .  .  .  Perhaps  she  will 
have  pity  !  .  .  .  She  allows  herself  to  be  dis- 
armed by  tears.  .  .  .  We  must  grant  her  all  she 
asks  us ;  haply  she  will  smile ;  and  she  is  wont 
to  spare  all  those  who  kneel.  .  .  .  She  has  been 
there  for  years  in  her  huge  tower,  devouring  our 
beloved,  and  none,  not  one,  has  dared  to  strike 
her  in  the  face.  .  .  .  She  is  there,  upon  our 
souls,  like  the  stone  of  a  tomb,  and  no  one  dare 
put  forth  his  arm.  ...  In  the  time  when  there 
were  men  here,  they  feared  too,  and  fell  upon 
their  faces.  .  .  .  To-day  it  is  the  woman's  turn ; 
.  .  .  we  shall  see.  .  .  .  It  is  time  to  rise  at  last. 
.  .  .  We  know  not  upon  what  her  power  rests, 
and  I  will  live  no  longer  in  the  shadow  of  her 
tower.  .  .  .  Go,  —  go,  both  of  you,  and  leave  me 
more  alone  still,  if  you  tremble  too.  ...  I 
shall  await  her.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

Sister,  I  do  not  know  what  must  be  done,  but 
I  stay  with  thee.  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

I  too  stay,  my  daughter.  For  a  long  time 
my  soul  has  been  restless.  .  .  .  You  are  going  to 
try.  .  .  .  We  have  tried  more  than  once.  .  .  • 


184      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

YGRAINE. 

You  have  tried  .  .  .  you  too? 

AGLOVALE. 

They  have  all  tried.  .  .  .  But  at  the  last  moment 
they  have  lost  their  strength.  .  .  .  You  will  see, 
you  too.  .  f  .  Should  she  order  me  to  come  up 
to  her  this  very  night,  I  should  clasp  both  my 
hands  without  a  word ;  and  my  tired  feet  would 
climb  the  stair,  without  delay  and  without  haste, 
well  as  I  know  no  one  comes  down  again  with 
open  eyes.  ...  I  have  no  more  courage  against 
her.  .  .  .  Our  hands  are  of  no  use  and  reach  no 
one.  .  .  .  They  are  not  the  hands  we  need,  and 
all  is  useless.  .  .  .  But  I  would  help  you,  be- 
cause you  hope.  .  .  .  Shut  the  doors,  my  child. 
Wake  Tintagiles ;  encircle  him  with  your  little 
naked  arms  and  take  him  on  your  knees.  ... 
We  have  no  other  defence.  . 


ACT  THIRD. 

The  same.     YGRAINE  anJAGLOVAiE  discovered. 

YGRAINE. 

I  have  been  to  all  the  doors.  There  are  three. 
We  will  guard  the  largest.  .  .  .  The  other  two  are 
thick  and  low.  They  never  open.  Their  keys 
were  lost  long  ago,  and  the  iron  bars  are  bedded 
fast  in  the  walls.  Help  me  shut  this ;  it  is 
heavier  than  the  gate  of  a  city.  ...  It  is  strong, 
too,  and  the  thunder  itself  could  not  enter.  .  . 
Are  you  ready  for  everything? 

AGLOVALE  (seating  himself  on  the  threshold") . 

I  shall  sit  on  the  steps  of  the  threshold,  with 
the  sword  on  my  knees.  .  .  .  Methinks  it  is  not 
the  first  time  I  have  watched  and  waited  here, 
my  child ;  and  there  are  moments  when  we  do 
not  understand  all  we  remember.  ...  I  have 
done  these  things,  I  know  not  when ;  .  .  .  but 
I  never  dared  draw  my  sword.  .  .  .  To-day  it 
is  there,  before  me,  although  my  arms  have  no 
more  strength  ;  but  I  will  try.  .  .  .  Perhaps  it  is 
time  to  defend  ourselves,  although  we  do  not 
understand.  , 


1 86      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

BELLANGERE,  carrying  TINTAGILES,  enters  from 
the  adjoining  room. 

BELLANGERE. 

He  was  awake.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

He  is  pale.  .  .  .  Why,  what  is  the  matter? 

BELLANGERE. 

I  do  not  know. .  . .  He  was  crying  silently.  .  . . 

YGRAINE. 

Tintagiles.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

He  looks  the  other  way.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

He  does  not  recognize  me.  .  .  .  Tintagiles, 
where  art  thou  ?  —  It  is  thy  sister  speaking  to 
thee.  .  .  .  What  lookest  thou  at  there  ?  —  Turn 
back  this  way.  .  .  .  Come,  we  will  play.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

No.  ...  No.  ... 

YGRAINE. 

Thou  wouldst  not  play  ? 

TINTAGILES. 

I  can  no  longer  walk,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  • 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      187 

YGRAINE. 

Thou  canst  no  longer  walk  ?  .  .  .  Come,  come, 
what  ails  thee  ?  —  Art  thou  in  pain  a  little  ?  . .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Yes.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Where  is  the  pain,  then  ?  —  Tell  me,  Tintagiles, 
and  I  will  cure  thee.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

I  can't  tell,  sister  Ygraine,  it  is  everywhere.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Come  here,  Tintagiles.  .  .  .  Thou  knowest 
my  arms  are  gentler,  and  one  is  cured  quickly 
there.  .  .  .  Give  him  to  me,  Bellangere.  .  .  .  He 
shall  sit  on  my  knees,  and  it  will  go  away.  .  .  . 
There,  thou  seest  how  it  is  !  ...  Thy  great  sisters 
are  here.  .  .  .  They  are  about  thee ;  ...  we  will 
defend  thee,  and  no  harm  can  come.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

It  is  there,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  .  Why  is  there 
no  light,  sister  Ygraine  ? 


YGRAINE. 


There  is,  my  child.  .  .  .  Thou  dost  not  see  the 
lamp  that  hangs  down  from  the  vault? 


TINTAGILES. 


Yes,  yes.  ...  It  is  not  big.  .  .  .  There  are 
no  others? 


1 88      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 


YGRAINE. 

Why  should  there  be  others  ?  We  can  see  all 
we  need  see.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 
Ah! ... 

YGRAINE. 

Oh,  thine  eyes  are  deep  !  .  ,  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Thine  too,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  had  not  noticed  it  this  morning.  ...  I  saw 
arise  .  .  .  one  never  knows  just  what  the  soul 
believes  it  sees.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

I  have  not  seen  the  soul,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 
Why  is  Aglovale  there  on  the  threshold  ? 

YGRAINE. 

He  is  resting  a  little.  .  .  .  He  wanted  to  ld«s 
thee  before  he  went  to  bed.  .  .  .  He  was  wait- 
ing for  thee  to  wake.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

What  is  that  on  his  knees? 

YGRAINE. 

On  his  knees  ?  I  see  nothing  on  his  knees.  . . . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       189 

TINTAGILES. 

Yes,  yes,  there  is  something.  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

Nothing  much,  my  child.  ...  I  was  looking 
at  my  old  sword  ;  and  I  hardly  recognized  it.  ... 
It  has  served  me  many  years  ;  but  for  some  time 
I  have  lost  all  faith  in  it,  and  I  think  it  will  soon 
break.  .  .  .  There,  by  the  hilt,  there  is  a  little 
spot.  ...  I  have  observed  the  steel  was  growing 
paler,  and  I  asked  myself  ...  I  know  not  any 
longer  what  I  asked.  .  .  .  My  soul  is  very  heavy 
to-day.  .  .  .  How  can  it  be  helped  ?  .  .  .  We  have 
to  live  in  expectation  of  the  unexpected.  .  .  . 
And  then  we  have  to  act  as  if  we  hoped.  .  .  . 
There  are  those  heavy  evenings  when  the  use- 
lessness  of  life  rises  in  the  throat ;  and  you 
would  like  to  close  your  eyes.  .  .  .  It  is  late,  and 
I  am  tired.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

He  is  wounded,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Where? 

TINTAGILES. 

On  the  forehead  and  the  hands.  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

Those  are  very  old  wounds  that  do  not  hurt 
me  any  more,  my  child.  ...  It  must  be  the 
light  falling  on  them  to-night.  .  .  .  Thou  hast 
never  noticed  them  till  now  ? 


1 90      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

TINTAGILES. 

He  looks  sad,  sister  Ygraine,  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

No,  no ;  he  is  not  sad,  but  very  weary.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Thou  art  sad  too,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Why,   no;  why,  no;   you  see,  I  am  smil- 
ing. ... 

TINTAGILES. 

And  my  other  sister,  too.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Why,  no ;   she  is  smiling,  too.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

That  is  not  smiling.  ...  I  know.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Come  ;  kiss  me  and  think  of  something  else. 
.  .  .  [She  kisses  him.~\ 

TINTAGILES. 

What  else,  sister  Ygraine  ?  —  Why  dost  thou 
hurt  me  when  thou  dost  kiss  me  so? 

YGRAINE. 

I  hurt  thee? 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       191 


TINTAGILES. 

Yes.  ...  I  don't  know  why  I  hear  thy  heart 
beat,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Thou  nearest  it  beat? 

TINTAGILES. 

Oh  !  oh  !  it  beats,  it  beats,  as  if  it  would  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

What? 

TINTAGILES. 

I  don't  know,  sister  Ygraine.  ... 

YGRAINE. 

Thou  must  not  be  alarmed  without  reason, 
nor  speak  in  riddles.  .  .  .  Stop  !  thine  eyes  are 
wet.  .  .  .  Why  art  thou  troubled  ?  I  hear  thy 
heart  beat,  too.  .  .  .  You  always  hear  it  when 
you  kiss  so.  ...  It  is  then  it  speaks  and  says 
things  the  tongue  knows  not  of.  ... 

TINTAGILES. 

I  did  not  hear  it  just  now.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Because  then  .  .  .  Oh !  but  thine  !  .  .  .  Why, 
what  ails  it?  .  .  .  It  is  bursting !  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES  (crying). 
Sister  Ygraine  !  sister  Ygraine  I 


I92       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

YGRAINE. 

What? 

TINTAGILES. 

I  heard !  .  .  .  They  .  .  .  they  are  coming  1 

YGRAINE. 

They,  who?  .  .  .  Why,  what's  the  matter?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

The  door  !   the  door  !  They  were  there  !  .  .  . 
[He  falls  backward  on  YGRAINE'S  knees. 

YGRAINE. 

Why,  what's  the  matter?  ...  He  has  .... 

he  has  fainted.  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

Take   care ;  .  .  .  take   care  !  .  .  .  He   will 
fall.  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

[Rising  abruptly,  sword  in  hand."]     I  hear 
too ;  .  .  .  some  one  is  walking  in  the  corridor. 

YGRAINE. 

Oh !  ... 

[A  silence — they  listen. 

AGLOVALE. 

I  hear.  .  .  .  There  is  a  crowd  of  them.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE, 

A  crowd!  .  .  .  What  crowd? 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       193 

AGLOVALE. 

I  do  not  know ;  .  .  .  you  hear  and  you  do  not 
hear.  .  .  .  They  do  not  walk  like  other  beings, 
but  they  come.  .  .  .  They  are  touching  the 
door.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

[Clasping  TINTAGILES  convulsively  in  her 
arms.'}  Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  !  .  .  . 

BELLANGERE. 

\Kissing  him  at  the  same  time.]  I  too  !  .  .  . 
I  too !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  !  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

They  are  shaking  the  door  .  .  .  listen  .  .  . 
soft !  .  .  .  They  are  whispering.  .  .  . 

\A  key  is  heard  grating  in  the  lock. 

YGRAINE. 

They  have  the  key  !  .  .  . 

AGLOVALE. 

Yes;  .  .  .  yes.  ...  I  was  sure  of  it.  ... 
Wait.  .  .  . 

[He  posts  himself,  with  raised  sword,  on 

the  last  step.  —  To  the  two  sisters  :J 
Come !  .  .  .  come,  too  !  .  .  . 

[A  silence.  The  door  opens  a  little.  Trem- 
bling like  the  needle  of  a  compass,  Aglovale 
puts  his  sword  across  the  opening,  sticking 
the  point  of  it  between  the  beams  of  the 
door-case.  The  sword  breaks  with  a  crash 
under  the  ominous  pressure  of  the  folding* 


u 


194      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

door,  and  its  fragments  roll  echoing  down 
the  steps.  Ygraine  leaps  up  with  Tintagiles, 
still  in  a  faint,  in  her  arms ;  and  she,  Bel- 
langere  and  Aglovale,  with  vain  and  mighty 
efforts,  try  to  push  back  the  door,  which  con- 
tinues to  open  slowly,  although  no  one  is 
heard  or  seen.  Only  a  brightness,  cold  and 
calm,  pierces  into  the  room.  At  this  mo- 
ment, Tintagiles,  suddenly  straightening  up, 
comes  to  himself,  utters  a  long  cry  of  deliv- 
erance and  kisses  his  sister,  while  at  the  very 
moment  of  this  cry,  the  door,  resisting  no 
longer,  shuts  abruptly  under  their  pressure, 
which  they  have  not  had  time  to  interrupt.  ] 

YGRAINE. 

Tintagiles !  .  .  . 

[They  look  at  each  other  in  amazement. 

AGLOVALE  (listening  at  the  door) . 
I  no  longer  hear  a  sound.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE  (wild  with  joy) . 

Tintagiles  1  Tintagiles  !  ...  See  !  See  !  ... 
He  is  saved  1  ...  See  his  eyes  !  .  .  .  you  can 
see  the  blue.  .  .  .  He  is  going  to  speak.  .  .  . 
They  saw  we  were  watching.  .  .  .  They  did 
not  dare  !  .  .  .  Kiss  us !  ...  Kiss  us,  I  tell 
thee  !  .  .  .  Kiss  us  !  ...  All !  all !  ...  To  the 
very  depths  of  our  souls  !  .  .  . 

[All four,  with  eyes  filled  with  tears t  remain 
closely  embraced^ 


ACT  FOURTH. 

[A  corridor  before  the  apartment  of  the  pre- 
ceding act.  Enter,  veiled,  three  handmaids 
of  the  Queen.] 

FIRST  HANDMAID  (listening  at  the  door). 
They  watch  no  longer.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

It  was  useless  to  wait.  .  .  . 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 

She    preferred   that   it  should  be   done  in 
silence.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

I  knew  that  they  must  sleep.  .  .  . 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

Open  quickly.  .  .  . 

THIRD  HANDMAID. 

It  is  time.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

Wait  at  the  door.     I  will  go  in  alone.     It  i» 
needless  to  be  three.  , 


196       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

It  is  true,  he  is  very  little.  .  .  . 

THIRD  HANDMAID. 

You  must  be  on  your  guard  for  the  eldei 
sister.  .  .  . 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

You  know  the  Queen  would  not  that  they 
should  know.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

Fear  nothing ;  I  am  never  easily  heard.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

Go  in,  then  ;  it  is  time. 

[The  first  handmaid  opens  the  door  pru- 
dently and  enters  the  room.~\ 

It  is  nearly  midnight.  .  .  . 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 

Ah! ... 

[A   silence.       The  first  handmaid  comes 
back  from  the  apartment^ 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

Where  is  he? 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

He  is  asleep  between  his  sisters.  His  arms 
are  about  their  necks ;  and  their  arms  are  about 
him,  too.  ...  I  could  not  do  it  aloue.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      197 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

I  will  go  help  you.  .  .  . 

THIRD  HANDMAID. 

Yes;  go  in  together.  ...  I  will  watch 
here.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

Take  care  :  they  are  aware  of  something. 
.  .  .  They  are  all  three  struggling  with  a  bad 
dream.  .  .  . 

[The  two  handmaids  enter  the  room. 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 

They  are  always  aware ;  but  they  do  not 
understand.  .  .  . 

\A  silence.     The  first  two  handmaids  come 
back  again  from  the  apartment.~\ 

Well? 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

You  must  come  too  ;  ...  we  cannot  detach 
them.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

As  fast  as  we  undo  their  arms,  they  close  them 
on  the  child  again.  .  .  . 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

And  the  child  clings  to  them  harder  and 
harder.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

He  is  rating  with  his  forehead  on  the  elder 
sister's  heart.  , 


198      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

SECOND   HANDMAID. 

And    his     head    rises    and    falls    on    her 
breasts.  .  .  . 

FIRST   HANDMAID. 

We  shall  not  succeed  in  opening  his  hands 
the  least.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

They  plunge  to  the  very  depths  of  his  sisters' 
hair.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

He  clenches  a  golden  curl  between  his  little 
teeth.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

The  hair  of  the  elder  will  have  to  be  cut 
off.  ... 

FIRST   HANDMAK). 

The  other  sister's  as  well,  you  will  see.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

Have  you  your  shears? 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 
Yes 

4.  \fi3»      •      •      • 

FIRST   HANDMAID. 

Come  quick ;  they  stir  already. 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

Their  hearts  and  eyelids  beat  in  the  same 
time.  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       199 

FIRST   HANDMAID. 

It  is  true;    I  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  blue 
eyes  of  the  elder.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

She  looked  at  us,  but  saw  us  not.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

When  one  of  them  is  touched,  the  other  two 
start.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

They  struggle  without  being  able  to  move.  .  .  . 

FIRST  HANDMAID. 

The  elder  would  have  cried  out,  but  she  could 
not.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

Come  quickly ;  they  look  warned.  .  .  . 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 

The  old  man  is  not  there  ? 

FIRST   HANDMAID. 

Yes ;  but  he  sleeps  in  a  corner.  .  .  . 

SECOND  HANDMAID. 

He  sleeps  with  his  forehead  on  the  pommel 
of  his  sword. 

FIRST   HANDMAID. 

He  is  aware  of  nothing;   and  he  does  not 
dream.  .  .  . 


2OO       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

THIRD    HANDMAID. 

.  / 

Come,  come ;  we  must  have  done  with  it.  ... 


FIRST  HANDMAID. 


You    will    have     trouble    untangling     their 
limbs.  .  .  . 


SECOND  HANDMAID. 

True;    they   are   intertwined   like   those   of 
the  drowned.  .  .  . 

THIRD   HANDMAID. 

Come,  come.  .  .  . 

[They  enter  the  room.  A  great  silence,  broken 
by  sighs  and  dull  murmurs  of  an  anguish 
smothered  by  sleep.  Afterwards,  the  three 
handmaids  come  out  in  all  haste  from  the 
sombre  apartment.  One  of  them  carries 
Tintagiles  asleep  in  her  arms,  his  little  hands 
and  mouth  shrivelled  with  sleep  and  agony, 
and  flooding  him  all  over  with  the  flowing 
of  long  golden  locks  ravished  from  the  two 
sisters'  hair.  They  flee  in  silence  until,  when 
they  come  to  the  end  of  the  corridor,  Tin- 
tagiles, suddenly  waking,  utters  a  great  cry 
of  supreme  distress.] 

TINTAGILES  (from  the  depths  of  the  corridor) . 

A-ah!  .  .  . 

[New  silence.  Then  the  two  sisters  are  heard, 
in  the  next  room,  waking  and  rising  un- 
easily.] 

YGRAINE  (in  the  room) . 
Tintagiles  1  ...  Where  is  he  ?  .  .  . 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       20 1 

BELLANGERE. 

He  is  no  longer  here.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE  (with  increasing  anguish) . 

Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  A  lamp  !  a  lamp  !  .  .  .  Light 
it!  ... 

BELLANGERE. 

Yes  .  .  .  yes !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

[She  is  seen,  through  the  open  door,  coming 
forward  within  the  room,  with  a  lamp  in  her 
hand.] 

The  door  is  wide  open  ! 

THE  VOICE  OF  TINTAGILES  (almost  inaudible  in 
the  distance). 

Sister  Ygraine  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

He  cries !  ...  he  cries !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  ! 
Tintagiles  !  .  .  . 

[She  rushes  headlong  into  the  corridor.  Bel- 
langere  tries  to  follow  her,  but  faints  on  the 
steps  of  the  threshold.] 


ACT  FIFTH. 

A  great  iron  door  beneath  gloomy  arches. 
Enter  YGRAINE,  haggard,  dishevelled,  with  a 
lamp  in  her  hand. 

YGRAINE. 

[Turning  back  wildly '.]  They  have  not  fol- 
lowed me.  .  .  .  Bellangere  !  .  .  .  Bellangere  !  .  .  . 
Aglovale  !  .  .  .  Where  are  they  ?  —  They  said 
they  loved  him,  and  they  have  left  me  all 
alone  !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  Oh  ! 
it  is  true.  ...  I  have  climbed  up,  I  have  climbed 
up  innumerable  steps  between  great  pitiless  walls, 
and  my  heart  can  no  longer  sustain  me.  .  .  .  The 
arches  seem  to  stir.  .  .  .  \_She  leans  against  the 
pillars  of  an  arch.~]  I  shall  fall.  .  .  .  Oh  !  oh  !  my 
poor  life!  I  feel  it.  .  .  .  It  is  at  the  very  edge  of 
my  lips,  trying  to  get  away.  ...  I  do  not  know 
what  I  have  done.  ...  I  have  seen  nothing ;  I 
have  heard  nothing.  .  .  .  Oh,  the  silence  !  .  .  . 
I  found  all  these  golden  curls  along  the  steps  and 
along  the  walls ;  and  I  followed  them.  I  picked 
them  up.  .  .  .  Oh  !  oh  1  they  are  very  beautiful ! 
Little  thumbkin  !  .  .  .  little  thumbkin  !  .  .  .  What 
did  I  say?  I  remember.  ...  I  do  not  believe  in  it, 
either;  .  .  .  one  can  sleep.  ...  All  that  is  of  no 
consequence,  and  it  is  not  possible.  ...  I  do  not 
know  what  I  think  any  longer.  .  .  .  One  is  waked 
up,  and  then  ...  At  bottom,  come,  at  bottom, 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      203 

one  must  reflect.  .  .  .  They  say  this,  they  say 
that ;  but  the  soul  —  that  follows  another  road 
altogether.  You  do  not  know  all  you  unloose. 
I  came  here  with  my  little  lamp.  ...  It  was  not 
blown  out  in  spite  of  the  wind  in  the  stairway.  .  .  . 
At  bottom,  what  must  be  thought  of  it  ?  There 
are  too  many  things  unsettled.  .  .  .And  yet  there 
are  some  who  should  know  them ;  but  why  do 
they  not  speak?  [Looking  about  her.~]  I  have 
never  seen  all  this.  .  .  .  One  may  not  climb  so 
high  ;  everything  is  forbidden.  ...  It  is  cold.  .  .  . 
It  is  so  dark,  too,  one  might  fear  to  breathe.  .  .  . 
They  say  the  shadows  poison.  .  .  .  Yonder  door 
is  fearful.  .  .  .  [She  approaches  the  door  and 
gropes  over  it.~]  Oh  !  it  is  cold  !  ...  It  is  of 
smooth  iron  ;  all  smooth,  and  has  no  lock.  .  .  . 
Where  does  it  open,  then  ?  I  see  no  hinges.  .  .  . 
I  believe  it  is  embedded  in  the  wall.  .  .  .  One  can 
go  no  higher  ;  .  .  .  there  are  no  more  steps.  .  .  . 
[  Uttering  a  terrible  cry.'}  Ah  !  ...  still  more 
golden  curls,  shut  in  the  door  !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  ! 
Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  I  heard  the  door  fall  to  just 
now  !  .  .  .  I  remember !  I  remember  !  ...  It 
must !  .  .  .  [She  beats  frantically  with  fist  and 
feet  on  the  door.~]  Oh  !  the  monster  !  the  mon- 
ster !  .  .  .  You  are  here  1  ...  Listen  i  I  blas- 
pheme !  I  blaspheme  and  spit  at  you  !  .  .  . 

[Knocking,  in  tiny  strokes,  heard  on  the  other 
side  of  the  door ;  then  the  voice  of  Tintagiles 
pierces,  very  feebly,  through  the  iroo 
barriers.] 

TINTAGILES. 

Sister  Ygraine,  sister  Ygraine  1 


204      The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 


YGRAINE. 

Tintagiles!  .  .  .  What?  .  .  .  What?  .  .  . 
Tintagiles,  is  it  thou?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Open  quickly,  open  quickly !  .  .  .  She  is 
there !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Oh  !  oh  !  .  .  .  Who  ?  .  .  .  Tintagiles,  my  little 
Tintagiles  !  .  .  .  dost  thou  hear  me  ?  .  .  .  What  is 
it !  ...  What  has  happened  ?  .  .  .  Tintagiles  ! 
.  .  .  Thou  hast  not  been  hurt  ?  .  .  .  Where  art 
thou  ?  .  .  .  Art  thou  there  ?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Sister  Ygraine,  sister  Ygraine  !  .  .  .  I  shall  die 
if  thou  dost  not  open  me  the  door.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Wait ;  I  am  trying ;  wait.  ...  I  am  opening 
it,  I  am  opening  it.  ... 

TINTAGILES. 

But  thou  dost  not  understand  me  !  .  .  .  Sister 
Ygraine  !  .  .  .  There  is  no  time  !  .  .  .  She  could 
not  hold  me.  ...  I  struck  her,  struck  her.  .  .  . 
I  ran.  .  .  .  Quick,  quick,  she  is  here  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  am  coming,  I  am  coming.  .  .  .  Where  is  she  ? 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      205 

TINTAGILES. 

I  see  nothing,  .  .  .  but  I  hear  ...  oh  !  I  am 
afraid,  sister  Ygraine,  I  am  afraid  !  .  .  .  Quick, 
quick !  .  .  .  Open  quickly  !  ...  for  the  love  of 
the  dear  God,  sister  Ygraine  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE  {groping  over  the  door  anxiously) . 

I  am  sure  to  find  .  .  .  wait  a  little  ...  a  min- 
ute ...  a  moment  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

I  cannot  wait  any  longer,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 
She  is  breathing  behind  me.  .  .  . 

YGRAINJE. 

It  is  nothing,  Tintagiles ;  my  little  Tintagiles, 
don't  be  afraid.  ...  It  is  because  I  cannot 
see.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Yes,  thou  canst ;  I  see  thy  light  plainly.  .... 
It  is  light  by  thee,  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  .  Here  I 
can  see  no  longer.   .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Thou  seest  me,  Tintagiles?  Where  can  one 
see  ?  There  is  no  chink.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Yes,  yes,  there  is  one,  but  it  is  so  little  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE 

Which  side  ?  Here  ?  .  .  .  Tell  me,  tell  me  ! 
.  .  .  There,  perhaps? 


206       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

TINTAGILES. 

Here,  here.  .  .  .  Dost  thou  not  hear  ?  I  am 
knocking.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Here? 

TINTAGILES. 

Higher.  .  .  .  But  it  is  so  little !  .  .  .  One 
could  not  pass  a  needle  through  it !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Don't  be  afraid ;  I  shall  be  there.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Oh,  I  hear,  sister  Ygraine  !  .  .  .  Pull !  Pull ! 
Thou  must  pull !  She  is  here  !  .  .  .  if  thou 
couldst  open  it  a  little  .  .  .  just  a  little.  ...  I 
am  so  tiny  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  have  no  nails  left,  Tintagiles.  ...  I  have 
pulled,  I  have  pushed,  I  have  pounded  !  .  .  .  I 
have  pounded  !  .  .  .  [She pounds  again  and  fries 
to  shake  the  immovable  door.~\  Two  of  my  fingers 
are  numb.  .  .  .  Do  not  weep ;  ...  it  is  iron.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES  (sobbing  desperately) . 

Thou  hast  nothing  to  open  it  with,  sister 
Ygraine  ?  .  .  .  Nothing  at  all,  nothing  at  all  j  ... 
and  I  could  go  through ;  ...  for  I  am  so  little, 
so  little.  .  .  .  Thou  knowest  well.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

I  have  nothing  but  my  lamp,  Tintagiles.  .  .  . 
There  !  There  i  .  .  .  [She  beats  hard  on  the 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.      207 

door,  with  the  help  of  her  lamp  of  clay,  which 
goes  out  and  is  broken^  Oh!  .  .  .  Everything 
is  dark  all  at  once  !  .  .  .  Tintagiles,  where  art 
thou  ?  .  .  .  Oh,  listen,  listen  !  .  .  .  Thou  canst 
not  open  it  from  within?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

No,  no ;  there  is  n't  anything.  ...  I  can't 
feel  anything  at  all.  ...  I  can't  see  the  little 
bright  chink  any  longer.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

What  ails  thee,  Tintagiles?  ...  I  hardly 
hear  any  longer.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

Little  sister,  sister  Ygraine.  ...  It  is  no  longer 
possible.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

What  is  it,  Tintagiles?  .  .  .  Where  goest 
thou?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

She  is  there  !  .  .  .  I  have  no  more  courage.  — 
Sister  Ygraine,  sister  Ygraine  ! .  .  .  I  feel  her !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

V/ho?  .  ,  .  Who?  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

I  do  not  know.  ...  I  do  not  see.  .  .  .  But  it 
is  no  longer  possible  !  .  .  .  She  .  .  .  she  is  taking 
me  by  the  throat.  .  .  .  She  has  put  her  hand  on 
my  throat.  ...  Oh  !  oh  !  sister  Ygraine,  come 
here.  .  .  . 


208       The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

YGRAINE. 

Yes,  yes.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES. 

It  is  so  dark  !  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

Struggle,  defend  thyself,  tear  her !  .  .  .  Don't 
be  afraid.  .  .  .  One  moment !  .  .  .  I  shall  be 
there.  .  .  .  Tintagiles !  .  .  .  Tintagiles  !  answer 
me  !  ...  Help  !  .  .  .  Where  art  thou  ?  .  .  .  I 
am  going  to  help  thee.  .  .  .  Kiss  me  .  .  .  through 
the  door  .  .  .  here  .  .  .  here.  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES  (  very  feebly) . 
Here  .  .  .  here  .  .  .  sister  Ygraine.  .  .  . 

YGRAINE. 

It  is  here,  it  is  here  I  am  giving  kisses,  hearest 
thou  ?  Again  !  again  !  .  .  . 

TINTAGILES  (more  and  more  feebly) . 

I  am   giving  them,  too  .  .  .  here  .  .  .  sister 
Ygraine  !  .  .  .  sister  Ygraine  !  .  .  .  Oh  !  .  .  . 
\Thefall  of  a  little  body  is  heard  behind 
the  iron  door.~] 

YGRAINE. 

Tintagiles !  .  .  .  Tintagiles !  .  .  .  What  hast 
thou  done  ?  .  .  .  Give  him  up  !  give  him  up  !  ... 
for  the  love  of  God,  give  him  up  !  ...  I  no 
longer  hear.  ...  —  What  have  you  done  with 
him  ?  .  .  .  Do  him  no  harm,  will  you  ?  .  .  .  It 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles.       209 

is  only  a  poor  child  !  .  .  .  He  does  not  resist.  .  .  . 
See,  see.  ...  I  am  not  wicked.  ...  I  have  gone 
down  on  both  knees.  .  .  .  Give  him  up,  I  pray 
thee.  ...  It  is  not  for  myself  alone,  thou 
knowest.  ...  I  will  do  all  one  could  wish.  .  .  . 
I  am  not  bad,  you  see.  ...  I  beseech  you  with 
clasped  hands.  ...  I  was  wrong.  ...  I  sub- 
mit utterly,  thou  seest  well.  ...  I  have  lost  all 
I  had.  .  .  .  Let  me  be  punished  some  other 
way.  .  .  .  There  are  so  many  things  that  could 
give  me  more  pain  ...  if  thou  lovest  to  give 
pain ....  Thou  wilt  see.  .  .  .  But  this  poor 
child  has  done  nothing.  .  .  .  What  I  said  was 
not  true  .  .  .  but  I  did  not  know.  ...  I  know 
well  you  are  very  good.  .  .  .  One  must  forgive 
in  the  end  !  .  .  .  He  is  so  young,  he  is  so  beau- 
tiful, and  he  is  so  little  !  .  . .  You  see,  it  is  not  pos- 
sible !  .  .  .  He  puts  his  little  arms  about  your 
neck,  his  little  mouth  on  your  mouth ;  and  God 
himself  could  not  resist  any  longer.  .  .  .  You 
will  open,  will  you  not  ?  .  .  .  I  ask  almost  noth- 
ing. ...  I  should  only  have  him  a  moment, 
one  little  moment.  ...  I  do  not  remember  .  .  . 
thou  understandest.  ...  I  did  not  have  time. .  .  . 
There  needs  hardly  anything  to  let  him  pass.  .  .  . 
It  is  not  hard.  .  .  .  \A  long  inexorable  silence '.]  — 
Monster !  .  .  .  Monster !  .  .  .  I  spit  — .  .  . ! 
\She  sinks  down  and  continues  to  sob 
softly,  with  her  arms  stretched  up  on 
ike  door,  in  the  darkness."] 

[CURTAIN.] 


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